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THE 


DRUMMER    BOY. 


A   STORY   OF    BUMSIDE'S    EXPEDITrON. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "FATHER  BRIGHTHOPES." 


•BOSTON: 
PUBLISHED    BY    J.  E.   TILTON  &  CO 

18  6  7. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863,  bj 

J.  E.   TILTON    &    CO., 

1  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachasettii 


STEREOTYPED    AT   THE 
BOSTON     STEREOTYPE. FOUND  ST. 


CONTENTS. 


f7BAP.  Paob 

I.    Fbank  at  Home, 5 

n.     Off  to  the  Wab, 13 

m.     Under  Canvas, 24 

IV.  The  old  Drummer  and  the  new  Drum,      ...     37 

V.     FtM  in  Camp, 47 

VI.     Breaking  Cajip, 59 

Vn.     Through  Boston, 68 

VLH.     Annapolis, 83 

IX.     Thanksgiyestg  in  Camp, 94 

X.    Frank's  Progress,      . 104 

XI.     A  Christmas  Frolic, 113 

XII.     The  Secessionist's  Turkeys, 124 

XIII.  The  Expedition  moves, 138 

XIV.  The  Voyage  and  the  Storm, 146 

XV.     Hatteras  Inlet, 158 

XVI.     How  Frank  lost  his  Watch, 168 

(3) 


603291 


4  CONTENTS. 

Chap.  Page 

XVn,  In  w'hich  Frank  sees  strange  Things,       .     .  178 

XVm.     Bitter  Things, 191 

XIX.     Seth  gets  «« Riled," 202 

XX.     Sunday  before  the  Battl:^ 211 

XXI.     Tp  the  Sound 221 

XXn.     The  Attack  of  the  Gunboats, 229 

•XXm.  The  Troops  disembark.  —  The  Island,  .     .     .  237 

XXTV.     The  Bivouac, 244 

XXV.     Atwater 250 

XKVI.     Old  Sinjin, 258 

-CXYH.     The  Skirmish, /    ....  265 

XXYm.     Jack  Winch's  Catastrophe, 272 

XXIX.  Ho-w  Frank  got  News  of  his  Brother,    .     .281 

XXX.  The  Boys  meet  an  old  Acquaintance,  .     .     .  292 

XXXI.     "Victory  or  Death!" 301 

XXXn.     After'  the  Battle 308 

XXXTTT.     A  Friend  in  need, 317 

XXXIV.     The  Hospital,  , 323 

XXXV.     Conclusion,  . 330 


THE   DRUMMER  BOY. 


FRANK   AT   HOME. 

One  evening,  in  the  month  of  October,  1861,  the 
Manly  family  were  gathered  together  in  their  little 
sitting-room,  discussing  a  question  of  the  most  serious 
importance  to  all  of  them,  and  to  Frank  in  particular. 
Mrs.  Manly  sat  by  the  table,  pretending  to  sew ;  but 
now  and  then  the  tears  rushed  into  her  eyes,  and 
dropped  upon  her  work,  in  spite  of  all  she  could  do  to 
keep  them  back.  Frank  watched  her  with  a  swelling 
breast,  sorry  to  see  his  mother  so  grieved,  and  yet  glad 
in  one  little  corner  of  his  heart ;  for,  although  she  had 
declared  that  she  could  not  think  of  granting  his 
request,  he  knew  well,  by  those  tears  of  hers,  that  she 
was  ah'eady  thinking  of  granting  it. 

"A  pretty  soldier  you'll  make,  Frank!"  said  Helen, 
his  elder  sister,  laughing  at  his  ambition.     "  You  never 


6  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

fired  a  gun  in  your  life ;  ahd  if  you  should  see  a 
rebel,  you  wouldn't  know  whicli  end  of  the  gun  to 
point  at  him,  you'd  be  so  frightened." 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  retorted  Frank,  stoutly,  deter- 
mined not  to  be  dissuaded  from  his  purpose  either  by 
entreaties  or  ridicule  ;  "  and  for  that  reason  I  am  going 
to  enUst  as  a  drummer  boy." 

"  Well,"  exclaimed  Helen,  "  your  hands  will  tremble 
so,  no  doubt  you  can  roll  the  drumsticks  admirably." 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,"  replied  Frank,  with  a  meaning 
smile ;  for  he  thought  within  himself,  "  If  she  really 
thinks  I  am  such  a  coward,  never  mind ;  she'll  learn 
better  some  day." 

"  O,  don't  go  to  war,  dear  Frank,"  pleaded,  in  a  low, 
sweet  voice,  his  younger  sister,  little  Hattie,  the  inva- 
lid, who  lay  upon  the  lounge,  hstening  with  painful 
interest  to  the  conversation ;  "  do,  brother,  stay  at 
home  with  me."        * 

■  That  aifectionate  appeal  touched  the  boy's  heart 
more  deeply  than  his  mother's  tears,  his  elder  sister's 
ridicule,  and  his  father's  opposition,  all  combined.  He 
knelt  down  by  little  Hattie's  side,  put  his  arms 
about  her  neck,  and  kissed  her. 

"But  somebody  must  go  and  fight,  little  sister," 
he  said,  as  soon  as  he  could  choke  back  his  tears. 
**The  rebels  are  trying  to  overthrow  the  govera- 
ment ;  and  you  wouldn't  keep  me  at  home  —  would 


FEiJKTK    AT    HOME.  7 

70U? — when  it  needs  the  services  of  every  true 
patriot  ?  " 

"  Which  of  the  newspapers  did  you  get  that  speech 
out  of?"  asked  Helen.  "If  Jeff  Davis  could  hear 
you,  I  think  he'd  give  up  the  Confederacy  at  once. 
He  would  say,  '  It's  no  use,  since  Y9ung  America 
has  spoken.'" 

"  Yes ;  like  the  coon  in  the  tree,  when  he  saw 
Colonel  Crockett  taking  aim  at  him,"  added  Frank: 
"  says  the  coon,  '  Don't  shoot !  If  it's  you,  colonel,  I'll 
come  down  ! '  And  I  tell  ye,"  cried  the  boy,  enthu- 
siastically, "there's  something  besides  a  joke  in  it. 
Jeff  '11  be  glad  to  come  down  out  of  his  tree,  be- 
fore we  hang  him  on  it." 

"  But  if  you  go  to  war,  Frank,"  exclaimed  the  little 
invalid,  from  her  pillow,  "you  will  be  shot." 

"  I  expect  to  be  shot  at  a  few  times,"  he  replied ; 
"  but  every  man  that's  shot  at  isn't  shot,  sissy ;  and 
every  man  that's  shot  isn't  killed;  and  every  man 
that's  killed  isn't  dead  —  if  what  the  Bible  says  is 
true." 

"O  my  son,"  said  Mrs.  Manly,  regarding  him  with 
affectionate  earnestness,  "do  you  know  what  you  say? 
have  you  considered  it  well  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Frank,  "I've  thought  it  all  over.  It 
hasn't  been  out  of  my  thoughts,  day  or  night,  thia 
ever  so  long;  though  I  was  determined  not  to  open 


8  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

my  lips  about  it  to  any  one,  till  my  mind  was  made 
up.  I  know  five  or  six  that  have  enlisted,  and  Fm 
just  as  well  able  to  serve  my  country  as  any  of  them 
I  believe  I  can  go  through  all  the  hardships  any  of 
them  can.  And  though  Helen  laughs  at  me  now  for  a 
coward,  before  I've  been  in  a  fight,  she  won't  laugh  at 
me  afterwards."  But  here  the  lad's  voice  broke, 
and  he  dashed  a  tear  from  his  eye, 

"No,  no,  Frank,"  said  Helen,  remorsefully,  think- 
ing suddenly  of  those  whose  brothers  have  gone  forth 
bravely  to  battle,  and  never  come  home  again.  And 
she  saw  in  imagination  her  own  dear,  brave,  loving 
brother  carried  bleeding  from  the  field,  his  bright, 
handsome  face  deathly  pale,  the  eyes  that  now  beamed 
so  hopefully  and  tenderly,  closing  —  perhaps  forever. 
"Forgive  my  jokes,  Frank;  but  you  are  too  young  to 
go  to  war.  We  have  lost  one  brother  by  secession, 
and  we  can't  afford  to  lose  another." 

She  alluded  to  George,  the  oldest  of  the  children, 
who  had  been  several  years  in  the  Carolinas;  who  had 
married  a  wife  there,  and  become  a  slave-owner ;  and 
who,  when  the  war  broke  out,  forgot  his  native  nortli, 
and  the  free  institutions  under  which  he  had  been 
bred,  to  side  with  the  south  and  slavery.  This  had 
proved  a  source  of  deep  grief  to  his  parents ;  not 
because  the  pecuniary  silpport  they  had  derived  from 
him,  up  to  the  fall  of  Fort  Sumter,  was  now  cut  off, 


FRANK    AT    HOilE. 


greatly  to  theii  distress,  —  for  they  were  poor,  -—  but 
because,  when  he  saw  the  Union  flag  fall  at  Charles- 
ton, he  had  written  home  that  it  was  a  glorious  sight ; 
and  they  knew  that  the  love  of  his  wife,  and  the  love 
of  his  property,  had  made  him  a  traitor  to  his 
countiy. 

"  If  I've  a  brother  enlisted  on  the  wrong  side,"  said 
Frank,  "  so  much  the  more  reason  that  I  should  enlist 
on  the  right  side.  And  I  am  not  so  young  but  that  I 
•can  be  doing  something  for  my  country,  and  some- 
thing for  you  here  at  home,  at  the  same  time.  If  I 
volunteer,  you  will  be  allowed  state  aid,  and  I  mean 
to  send  home  all  my  pay,  to  the  last  dollar.  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me,  father,  that  I  can  have  your 
consent." 

Mr.  Manly  sat  in  his  easy-chair,  with  his  legs 
crossed,  his  hands  pressed  together,  and  his  head  sunk 
upon  his  breast.  For  a  long  time  he  had  not  spoken. 
He  was  a  feeble  man,  who  had  not  succeeded  ^ell  in 
the  business  of  life;  his  great  fault  being  that  he 
always  relied  too  much  upon  others,  and  not  enough 
upon  himself  The  result  was,  that  his  wife  had  be- 
come more  the  head  of  the  family  than  he  was,  and 
every  important  question  of  this  kind,  as  Frank  well 
knew,  was  referred  to  her  for  decision. 

'^O,  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know,  my  son,"  Mr. 
Manly  groaned;  and,  uncrossing  his  legs,  he  crossed 


10  THE    DEUMMEE   BOY. 

them  again  in  another  posture.  '^I  ha^e  said  all  1 
can  ;  now  you  must  talk  with  your  mother." 

*  There,  mother,"  said  Frank,  who  had  got  the 
answer  he  expected,  and  now  proceeded  to  make  good 
use  of  it ;  "  father  is  willing,  you  see.  All  I  want  now 
is  for  you  to  say  yes.  I  must  go  and  enlist  to- 
morrow, if  I  mean  to  get  into  the  same  company  with 
the  other  boys  ;  and  I'm  sure  you'd  rather  I'd  go  with 
the  fellows  I  know,  than  with  strangers.  We  ai'e 
going  to  befriend  each  other,  and  stand  by  each  other 
to  the  last." 

"  Some  of  them,  I  am  afraid,  are  not  such  persons  as 
I  would  ^  wish  to  have  you  on  very  intimate  terms 
with,  any  where,  my  child,"  answered  Mrs.  Manly; 
"for  there  is  one  danger  I  should  dread  for  you 
worse  than  the  chances  of  the  battle-field." 

«  What's  that  ?  " 

"That  you  might  be  led  away  by  bad  company. 
To  have  you  become  corrupted  by  their  evil  influ- 
ences—  to  know  that  my  boy  was  no  longer  the 
pure,  truthful  child  he  was ;  that  he  would  blush  to 
have  his  sisters  know  his  habits  and  companions;  to 
see  him  come  home,  if  he  ever  does,  reckless  and 
dissipated  —  O,  I  could  endure  any  thing,  even  his 
death,  better  than  that." 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Frank,  filled  with  pain,  almost 
with  indignation,  at  the  thought  of  any  one,  especially 


FEANK   AT    HOME.  11 

his  motner,  suspecting  him  of  such  baseness  "  there's 
one  thing  —  you  shall  hear  of  my  death,  before  you 
hear  of  my  drinking,  or  gambling,  or  swearing,  or  any 
thing  of  the  kind.     I  promise  you  that." 

"  Where  is  your  Testament,  feiy  son  ? "  asked  his 
mother. 

«  Here  it  is." 

"  Have  you  a  pencil  ?  " 

"  He  may  take  mine,"  said  Hattie. 

"  Now  write  on  this  blank  leaf  what  you  have  just 
promised." 

Mrs.  Manly  spoke  with  a  solemn  and  tender  ear- 
nestness which  made  Frank  tremble,  as  he  obeyed ; 
for  he  felt  now  that  her  consent  was  certain,  and  that 
the  words  he  was  writing  were  a  sacred  pledge. 

"  Now  read  what  you  have  written,  so  that  we  can 
all  hear  what  you  promise,  and  remember  it  when 
you  are  away." 

After  some  bashful  hesitation,  Frank  took  courage, 
and  read.  A  long  silence  followed.  Little  Hattie  on 
the  lounge  was  crying. 

"  But  you  ought  to  keep  this  —  for  I  make  the 
promise  to  you,"  he  said,  reflecting  that  he  had  used 
his  own  Testament  to  write  in. 

"  No,  you  are  t®  keep  it,"  said  his  mother,  "  for  I'm 
afraid  we  shall  remember  your  promise  a  great  deal 
better  than  you  will." 


12  THE    DEXJMMEB   BOY. 

"  No,  you  won't ! "  cried  Frank,  full  of  resolution. 
"I  shall  keep  that  promise  to  the  letter." 

Mrs.  Manly  took  the  Testament,  read  over  the 
pledge  carefully,  and  wrote  under  it  a  little  prayer. 

"  Now,"  said  she,  "  go  to  your  room,  and  read  there 
what  I  have  written.  Then  go  to  bed,  and  try  to 
sleep.     We  all  need  rest  —  for  to-morrow." 

"  O  !  and  you  give  your  consent  ?  " 

"  My  son,"  said  Mrs.  Manly,  holding  his  hand,  and 
looking  into  his  face  with  affectionate,  misiy  eyes,  "  it 
is  right  th§Lt  you  should  do  something  for  your  family, 
for  we  need  your  help.  Tour  little  sister  is  sick,  your 
father  is  feeble,  and  I  —  my  hand  may  fail  any  day. 
And  it  is  right  that  you  should  wish  to  do  some- 
thing for  your  country;  and,  but  that  you  are  so 
young,  so  very  young,  I  should  not  have  opposed  you 
at  all.  As  it  is,  I  shall  not  oppose  you  any  more. 
Think  of  it  well,  if  you  have  not  done  so  already. 
Consider  the  hardships,  the  dangers  —  every  thing. 
Then  decide  for  yourself.  I  intrust  you,  I  give  you 
into  the  hands  of  our  heavenly  Father." 

She  folded  him  to  her  heart,  kissing  him  and 
weeping.  Frank  then  kissed  his  sisters  good-night, 
his  resolution  almost  failing  him,  and  his  heart  almost 
bursting  with  the  thought  that  -this  ^ight  be  the  last 
evening  he  would  ever  be  with  them,  or  kiss  them 
good-night. 


OFF  TO   THE  WAR. 

It  was  a  calm,  clear  October  night.  The  moonlight 
streamed  through  the  window  of  Frank's  room,  as  he 
lay  in  bed,  thinking  of  the  evening  that  was  past,  and 
of  the  morning  that  was  to  come.  Little  Willie,  his 
younger  brother,  was  sleeping  sweetly  at  his  side.  He 
had  heard  his  sisters  come  up  stairs  and  go  to  bed  in 
the  room  next  to  his ;  and  they  were  conversing  now 
in  low  tones,  —  about  him  he  was  sure. 

Would  he  ever  sleep  in  that  nice  warm  bed  again  \ 
Would  he  ever  again  fold  dear  little  Willie  in  his 
arms,  and  feel  his  dewy  cheek  against  his  own,  as 
he  did  now  ?  What  was  the  future  that  awaited  him  ? 
Who.  would  fill  his  mother's  place  when  he  was  gone 
from  her?  He  had  read  o^r  the  prayer  she  wrote 
for  him;  it  was  stijl  fresh  in  his  thoughts,  and  he 
repeated  it  now  to  himself  in  the  silence  of  the  moon- 
lit chamber. 

When  he  opened  his  eyes,  he  saw  a  white  shape 
enter  softly  and  approach  his  bedside.    There  it  stood 

(13) 


11  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

in  the  moonlight,  white  and  still.  Was  it  a  ghost? 
Was  it  an.  angel  ?     Frank  was  not  afraid. 

"Mother!" 

"  Are  you  awake,  my  darling  ?  " 

"  O,  yes,  mother.     I  haven't  slept  at  all." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  awake  you,  if  you  were  asleep," 
she  said,  kneeling  down  beside  him.  "But  I  could 
not  sleep ;  and  I  thought  I  would  come  and  look  at 
you,  and  kiss  you  once  more;  for  perhaps  I  shall 
never  see  you  in  your  bed  again." 

"  O,  mother,  don't  talk  so.  I  hope  I  shall  be  spared 
to  you  a  long,  long  time  yet." 

"  I  hope  you  will ;  but  we  must  think  of  the  worst, 
and  be  prepared  for  it,  my  son.  If  it  is  God's  will,  I 
can  give  you  up.  And  you  —  you  must  make  up  your 
mind  to  brave  all  dangers,  even  to  die,  if  necessary. 
It  is  a  great  and  holy  cause  you  are  engaging  in.  It 
is  no  gay  and  pleasant  adventure,  as  perhaps  you 
think.     Are  you  sure  you  have  thought  of  it  well  ?  " 

"I  have,"  responded  Frank.  "I  am  going;  and  I 
am  going  to  do  my  duty,  whatever  it  is.  For  a  few 
minutes  after  I  came  to  b«d,  thinking  of  what  you  had 
said,  and  of  lea\dng  you,  and  of": — here  he  choked  — 
"  I  was  almost  sorry  I  had  said  a  word  about  going ; 
it  looked  so  dreary  and  sad  to  me.  But  I  said  my 
prayers,  and  now  I  feel  better  about  it.  I  don't 
think  any  thing  can  shake  my  resolution  again." 


OFF    TO    THE    WAS.  15 

"  If  it  is  so,'  replied  his  mother,  "  I  have  nothing 
more  to  say."  And  she  kissed  him,  and  gave  him 
plentiful  good  advice,  and  finally  prayed  with  him, 
kneeling  by  his  bedside. 

"O,  don't  go,  motfier,"  said  Frank;  "it  is  such  a 
comfort  to  have  you  here !     May-be  it  is  the  last  time." 

"May-be  it  is,  my  son.  But  I  must  bid  you  good- 
night. You  must  sleep.  See  how  soundly  Willie  is 
sleeping  all  this  time!  He  don't  know  that  he  is 
losing  a  brother." 

After  she  was  gone,  Frank  felt  more  lonesome  than 
ever,  the  house  was  so  silent,  the  moonshine  in  his 
chamber  was  so  cold.  But  he  hugged  his  warm  little 
brother  close  to  his  heart,  and  cried  very  softly,  if  he 
cried  at  all. 

I  do  not  know  how  much  he  slept  that  night. 
No  doubt  his  excited  thoughts  kept  him  awake  until 
very  late,  for  he  was  fast  asleep  the  next  morning 
when  Helen  came  to  call  him. 

"  Hurrah  ! "  he  exclaimed,  starting  up ;  «  fight  for 
the  old  flag!"  for  he  was  dreaming  of  a  battle. 
" Hallo  .1"  he  said,  rubbing  his  eyes  open.  "That 
you,  Helen?"      ' 

"  A  wide-awake  drummer  boy  you  are,"  she  replied, 
with  her  usual  got)d-natured  irony.  "You'll  have  to 
rouse,^  up  earlier  than  this,  I  tell  you,  if  you  ever  beat 
the  reveille  for  the  soldiers." 


16  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

"So  much  the  more  reason  why  I  should  hare  a 
good  nap  in  the  morning,  when  I  can,"  said  Frank. 

"  Well,  lie  and  sleep,  if  you  want  to,"  she  added, 
with  a  touch  of  tenderness.  "I  thought  I'd  let  you 
know  breakfast  was  ready." 

But  Frank  was  wide  awake  enough  now.  He  felt 
there  was  something  great  and  grand  in  the  day  be- 
fore him,  and  he  was  anxious  to  meet  it.  He  was  up 
and  dressed  in  a  minute.  He  threw  open  his  window, 
and  looked  away  towards  the  city,  which  lay  dim  and 
strange  in  the  beautiful  mists  of  the  morning,  "^ivdth 
the  crimson  clouds  of  the  sunrise  lifting  like  curtains 
behind  it.  And  the  far-off  roar  of  the  rumbling  streets 
reached  his  ear,  inspiring  him  freshly  with  hope  and 
action. 

All  the  family  were  at  breakfast,  except  Hattie,  the 
sick  one,  when  Frank  came  down  stairs.  Even  Willie 
had  crept  out  of  bed  before  him,  wondering  what 
made  his  brother  sleep  so  long  that  morning.  And 
now  he  found  the  little  fellow  dividing  his  attentions 
between  his  breakfast  and  his  toy  gun,  which  had 
acquired  a  new  interest  in  his  eyes  since  Helen  had 
told  him  Frank  was  going  to  the  war. 

"  I'm  going  with  my  bwother  Fwank,"  he  declared, 
shouldering  arms  over  his  johnny'-cftke.  "  And  if  any 
body  —  any  webel"  —  breathing  earnestly  —  "hurt  my 
bwother  Fwank,  me  shoot  'em,  me  will ! " 


OFF    TO    THE    WAR.  17 

"Yes,"  remarked  Helen,  "you  and  Frank  will  put 
down  the  rebellion,  I've  not  the  least  doubt." 

This  was  meant  for  a  si}-  hit  at  Frank's  youthful 
patriotism ;  but  Willie  ^ook  it  quite  seriously. 

"Yes,"  he  lisped;  "me  and  Fwank — we  put  down 
the  webelliom  Take  aim!"  —  pointing  his  toy  at  his 
father's  nose.     "  Fire  !  bang  I     See,  me  kill  a  webel." 

"  How  little  the  child  realizes  what  it  is  to  fight  the 
rebels,"  said  his  mother,  with  a  sigh. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Helen,  "  Frank  doesn't  realize  it 
much  more  than  Willie  does.  He  has  just  about  as 
correct  a  notion  about  putting  down  the  webellionr 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Frank,  who  had  learned  that  the 
best  way  to  treat  a  joke  of  this  kind  is  always  to 
hmnor  it,  instead  of  being  offended.  For  ,a  joke  is 
often  like  a  little  barking*'dog  —  perfectly  harmless,  if 
you  pass  serenely  by  without  noticing  it,  or  if  you  just 
say,  "Poor  fellow!  brave  dog!"  and  pat  its  neck;  but 
v.^hich,  if  you  get  angry  and  raise  your  stick,  will 
worry  you  all  the  more  for  your  trouble,  and  per- 
haps be  provoked  to  bite. 

There  was  a  silence  of  several  minutes  —  Willie 
alone  manifesting  a  desire  to  keep  up  the  conversation 
on  war  matters.  *  He  stuck  his  johnny-cake  on  the  end 
of  his  gun,  and  bombarded  his  mother's  coffee-cup 
with  it ;  and  was  about  to  procure  more  johnny-cake, 
in  order  to  shell  the  siigar-bowl,  which  he  called 
2 


18  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  Fort  Sumter,"  when  Helen  put  an  end  to  his  sport 
by  disarming  him. 

"I  want  father  to  go  to  town  with  me,  to  the 
recruiting  office,"  said  Frank ;  "  for  I  don't  suppose  I 
will  be  accepted,  unless  he  does." 

That  sounded  like  proceeding  at  once  to  business, 
which  Mr.  Manly  never  liked  to  do.  He  was  one  of 
those  easily  discouraged  men,  whose  rule  is  always  to 
postpone  until  to-morrow  what  they  are  not  abso- 
lutely obliged  to  do  to-day.  He  waited,  however,  as 
usual,  to  .hear  what  his  wife  would  say  to  the  propo- 
sition, before  expressing  himself  decidedly  against  it. 
Fortunately,  Mrs.  Manly  had  energy  and  self-reliance 
enough  for  both. 

"If  you  are  still  firmly  resolved  to  go,  then  your 
father  will  go  with  you  to* the  recruiting  office,"  she 
said  ;  and  that  settled  it :  for  Frank  was  resolved  — 
liis  character  resembling  his  mother's  in  respect  to 
energy  and  determination. 

Accordingly,  after  breakfast,  Mr.  Manly,  with  fre- 
quent sighs  of  foreboding  and  discouragement,  made 
a  lather,  honed  his  razor,  and  shaved  himself,  prepara- 
tory to  a  visit  to  town.  Frank,  in  the  rfiean  while, 
made  ready  for  his  departure.  He  put  in  order  the 
personal  effiscts  which  he  intended  to  leave  at  home, 
and  packed  into  a  bundle  the  few  things  he  purposed 
to  take  with  him.     An  hour  passed  quickly  away,  with 


OFF    TO    THE    WAR.  19 

/ 

all  its    busy  preparations,   consultations,   and    lea^e 
takings;  and  the  last  moment  arrived. 

"Say  good-by  twice  to  me,"  said  Hattie,  tlie  littl8 
invalid,  rising  up  on  her  lounge  to  give  him  a  fare- 
well kiss. 

"  Why  twice  to  you  ?  "  asked  Frank. 

"Because,"  she  answered,  with  a  sad,  sweet  smile, 
"if  you  do  come  home  from  the  war,  perhaps  you 
.won't  find  me  here ; "  for  the  child  had  a  notion  that 
she  was  going  to  die. 

"  O  sissy,"  exclaimed  Frank,  "  don't  say  so  ;  I 
shall  come  back,  and  I  shall  find  you  well." 

"Yes,"  rej^lied  Hattie,  sorry  that  she  had  said  any 
thing  to  make  him  feel  bad ;  "  we  will  think  so,  dear 
brother."  And  she  smiled  again ;  just  as  angels 
smile,  Frank  thought. 

"Besides,  this  isn't  my  good-by  for  good,  ^ou  know," 
said  he.  "I  shall  get  a  furlough,  and  come  home  and 
see  you  all,  before  I  leave  for  the  seat  of  war  with  my 
regiment."  Frank  couldn't  help  feeUng  a  sort  of  pride 
in  speaking  of  his  regiment.  "  And  may-be  you  will 
all  visit  me  in  camp  before  I  go." 

"  Come,"  called  his  father,  at  the  door ;  "  if  we  are 
going  to  catch  this  car,  we  must  be  off." 

So  Frank  abbreviated  his  adieus,  and  ran. 

"Wait,  wait!"  screamed  Willie,  pulling  his  cap  on. 
**  Me  go,  me  go  ! " 


20.  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  Go  where,  you  little  witch?  "  cried  Helen. 

"Me  go.  to  war,  along  with  my  bwother  Fwank, 
Put  down  webellion,"  pouted  the  child,  shouldering 
his  gun,  and  trudging  out  of  the  door  in  eager  haste, 
fearing  lest  he  should  be  left  behind. 

Mrs.  Manly  was  parting  fi'om  her  son  on  the  door- 
step, putting  back  a  stray  curl  from  his  cheek,  smooth- 
ing his  collar,  and  whispering,  with  wet  eyes  and 
quivering  lips,  "My  child,  remember!" 

"I^vill  —  good-by!"  were' Frank's  last  words;  and 
he  hastened  after  his  father,  just  pausing  on  the  next 
corner  to  look  around  at  the  faces  in  the  door  of  his 
home,  and  wave  his  hat  at  them.  There  was  Hattie, 
leaning  on  Helen's  arm,  and  waving  her  handkerchief, 
which  was  scarcely  whiter  than  that  thin  white  face 
of  hers ;  and  there  was  his  mother  gazing  after  him 
with  steadfast  eyes  of  affection  and  blessing,  while  her 
hands  were  fully  occupied  in  restraining  that  small 
but  fiery  patriot,  Willie,  who,  with  his  cap  over  his 
eyes,  was  vehemently  struggling  to  go  with  his 
bwofher  Fwank. 

This  was  the  tableau,  the  final  picture  of  home, 
which  remained  imprinted  on  Frank's  memory.  For 
the  comer  was  passed,  and  the  doorway  and  windows 
of  the  dear  old  house,  and  the  dearer  faces  there,  were 
lost  to  sight.  He  would  have  delayed,  in  order  to  get 
one  more  l-^ok;  but  already  the  tinkling  bells   gave 


OFF    TO    THE    WAR.  21 

warning  of  the  near  approach  of  the  horse-car,  and 
he  and  his  father  had  no  more  than  time  to  reach  the 
Main  Street,  when  it  came  up,  and  stopped  to  take 
them  in. 

In  but  little  more  than  an  hour's  time,  by  far  ihe 
most  important  step  in  Frank's  life  had  been  t&ten. 
He  had  enlisted. 

« Well,"  said  his  father,  after  Frank,  with  a  firm 
and  steady  hand,  had  written  his  name,  "it  is  uone 
now.  You  are  a  brave  boy ! "  —  with  a  tear  of  pnde, 
as  he  regarded  his  handsome,  spuited  young  volunteer, 
and  thought  that  not  many  fathers  had  such  prom- 
ising sons. 

While  they  were  at  the  recruiting  office,  one  of 
their  neighbors  came  in. 

"  What ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  here  ?  on  business  ?  " 

"Patriotic  business,"  rephed  Mr.  Manly,  showing 
his  son  with  a  fond,  father's  emotion.  "He  has  vol- 
unteered, neighbor  Winch." 

"  Anr!  YOU  give  your  consent  ?  " 

"  I  do,  most  certainly,  since  he  feels  it  his  duty  to  go, 
and  his  mother  is  willing." 

N'eighbor  Winch  stood  speechless  for  a  moment, 
the  muscles  of  his  mouth  working.  "I  have  just 
heard,"  he  said,  in  an  agitated  voice,  "  that  my  son 
John  has  enlisted  without  my  consent;  and  I  have 


22  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

come  here  to  ascertain  the  fact.  Do  you  know  any 
thing  about  it,  Frank  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  do,"  replied  Frank,  with  some  reluc- 
tance. "  He  enlisted  three  days  ago.  He  wanted  me 
to  go  mth  him  then ;  but  I " 

"  You  what  ?  "  said  neighbor  Winch. 

"I  couldn't,  without  first  getting  permission  from 
my  father  and  mother,"  explained  Frank. 

"  O,  if  my  John  had  only  acted  as  noble  a  part ! '' 
said  the  neighbor.  "  It's  a  bad  beginning  for  a  boy  to 
run  away. '   He  has  nearly  broken  his  mother's  heart." 

"Well,  well,  neighbor,"  observed  Mr.  Manly,  con- 
solingly, "reflect  that  it's  in  a  good  cause.  Jack 
might  have  done  worse,  you  know."   . 

"Yes,  yes.  He  never  was  a  steady  boy,  as  you 
know.  He  has  set  out  to  learn  three  different  trades, 
and  got  sick  of  them  all.  I  couldn't  keep  him  at 
school,  neither.  Of  late  nothing  would  do  but  he 
must  be  a  soldiei*.  If  I  thought  he'd  stick  to  it,  and 
do  his  duty,  I  wouldn't  say  a  word.  But  he'll  get 
tired  of  carrying  a  gun,  too,  before  he  has  seen  hard 
service.     Where  is  he  ?     Do  you  know,  Frank  ?  " 

"  He  is  in  camp,  in  the  Jackson  Blues,"  said  Frank. 
**  I  am  going  as  drummer  in  the  same  comj^any." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  replied  Mr.  Winch.  "For, 
though  he  is  so  much  older  than  you,  I  think  you 
always  have   had  an   influence   over  him,  Frank  —  a 


OFF    TO    THE    WAR.  23 

good  influence,  too."  And  the  neighbor  took  the 
young  volunteer's  hand. 

Frank's  eyes  glistened  —  he  felt  so  touched  by  this 
compliment,  and  so  proud  that  his  father  had  heard 
it,  and  could  go  home  and  tell  it  to  his  mother  and 
sisters. 

Neighbor  Winch  went  on:  "I  want  you  to  see 
John,  as  soon  as  you  can,  F^fank,  and  talk  with  him, 
and  try  to  make  him  feel  how  wrongly  he  has  act- 
ed  " 

Here  the  poor  man's  voice  failed  him ;  and  Frank, 
sympathizing  with  his  sorrow,  was  filled  with  grati- 
tude to  think  that  he  had  never  been  tempted  to 
grieve  his  parents  in  the  same  way. 

Mr.  Manly  accompanied  his  son  to  the  railroad 
depot,  and  saw  him  safely  in  the  cars  that  were  to 
convey  him  to  camp,  and  then  took  leave  of  him.  The 
young  volunteer  would  have  forgotten  his  manhood, 
and  cried,  if  the  eyes  of  strang'^rs  had  not  been  upon 
him ;  even  as  it  was,  his  voice  broke  when  he  said  hia 
last  gGod-by,  and  sent  back  his  love  to  his  mother  and 
sisters  and  little  Willie. 


IIJ. 

DNDEU  CANVAS. 

The  cars  were  soon  off;  and  the  heart  of  Frank 
swelled  witjiin  him  as  he  felt  himself  now  fairly 
embarked  in  his  new  adventure. 

Soon  enough  the  white  tents  of  the  camp  rose  in 
sight.  The  Stars  and  Stripes  floating  under  the  blue 
-sky,  the  soldiers  in  their  blue  uniforms,  the  sentinels 
with  their  glittering  bayoneted  guns  pacing  up  and 
down,  and  above  all,  the  sound  of  a  drum,  which  he 
considered  now  to  be  a  part  of  his  life,  made  him  feel 
himself  already  a  hero. 

Several  other  recruif^  had  come  down  in  the  train 
with  him,  accompanied  ^by  an  officer.  Frank  was  a 
stranger  to  them  all.  But  he  was  not  long  -v^ithout 
*  acquaintances,  for  he  had  scarcely  alighted  at  the 
depot,  when  he  saw  coming  towards  him  his  neighbor 
and  chum,  Jack  Winch,  in  soldier  clothes  —  a  good- 
looking  young  fellow,  a  head  taller  and  some  two 
years  older  than  himself. 

'*  Hello,  Jack  !  how  are  you  ?  " 

(24) 


UNDER    CANVAS.  25 

**  Tip-top  !  "  said  Jack,  looking  happy  as  a  prince. 

Tiie  officer  who  had  brought  down  the  recruits 
went  with  them  to  the  quartermaster's  department, 
and  gave  orders  for  their  outfit.  When  Frank's  turn 
came,  his  measure  was  taken,  and  an  astonishing  quan- 
tity of  army  clothing  issued  to  him.  He  had  two 
pairs  of  drawers,  two  shirts,  two  pairs  of  stockings,  a 
blouse,  a  dress  coat,  an  overcoat,  a  cap,  a  pair  of  shoes, 
a  pair  of  pantaloons,  and  a  towel.  Besides  these  he 
received  a  knapsack,  with  two  blankets  ;  a  haversack, 
with  a  tin  plate,  knife  and  fork,  and  spoon  ;  *and  a  tin 
cup  and  canteen.  He  had  also  been  told  that  he 
should  get  his  drum  and  drumsticks ;  but  in  this  he 
was  disappointed.     The  department  was  out  of  drums. 

"  Never  mind ! "  said  Jack,  consolingly.  "  You  may 
consider  yourself  lucky  to  draw  your  clothes  so  soon. 
I  had  to  wait  for  mine  till  I  was  examined  and  sworn 
in.  The  surgeons  are  so  lazy,  or  have  so  much  to  do, 
or  something,  it  may  be  a  week  before  you'll  be 
examined." 

Fraak  was  soon  surrounded  by  acquaintances  whom 
he  scarcely  recognized  at  first,  they  looked  so  changed 
and  strange  to  him  in  their  uniforms. 

"How  funny  it  seems,"  said  he,  "to  be  shaking 
hands  with  soldiers  ! " 

"  These  are  our  tents,"  said  Jack.  "  They  all  have 
their  names,  you  see." 


26  THE    DEU^rMER    BOY. 

Which  fact  Frank  had  ah-eady  noticed  with  no 
httle  astonishment. 

The  names  were  lettered  on  the  canvas  of  the  tents 
in  characters  far  more  grotesque  than  elegant.  One 
was  called  the  "  Crystal  Palace  ; "  another,  the  "  Mam- 
moth Cave  ;  "  a  third  bore  the  mystical  title  of  "  Owl 
House ; "  while  a  fourth  displayed  the  sign  of  the 
"  Arab's  Home ; "  &c. 

"My  traps  are  in  the  'Young  Volunteer,'"  said 
Jack.  "  We  give  it  that  name,  because  we  are  all  of 
us  young  fellows  in  there.  You  can  tie  up  here  too," 
—  entering  the  tent,  —  "if  you  want  to." 

Frank  gladly  accepted  the  proposition.  "How 
odd  it  must  seem,"  he  said,  "  to  live  and  sleep  under 
canvas ! " 

"You'll  like  it  tip-top,  when  you  get  used  to  it," 
remarked  Jack,  with  an  air  of  old  experience. 

Frank  made  haste  to  take  off  his  civil  suit  and  put 
on  his  soldier  clothes.  Jack  pronounced  the  uniform 
a  splendid  fit,  and  declared  that  his  friend  looked 
"  stunning." 

"But  you  must  have  your  hair  cut,  Frank.  Look 
here ;  this  is  the  fighting  trim  ! "  and  Jack  Wincli, 
pulling  off  his  cap,  made  Frank  laugh  till  the  tears 
came  into  his  eyes,  at  the  ludicrous  sight.  Jack's  hair 
bad  been  cUpped  so  close  to  his  head  that  it  was  no 


UNDER    CANVAS.  27 

longer  than  mouse's  hair,  giving  him  a  peculiarly  grim 
and  antique  appearance. 

"You  look  like  Sindbad's  Old  Man  of  the  Sea!" 
exclaimed  Frank.  "I  won't  have  my  hair  cut  that 
^ay  !  "  —  feeling  of  his  own  soft  brown  curls,  which 
his  mother  was  so  fond  of,  and  which  he  meant  to 
preserve,  if  only  for  her  sake. 

« Pshaw !  you  look  like  a  girl !  Come,  Frank, 
there's  a  fellow  in  the  '  Owl  House '  that  cuts  all  the 
hair  for  our  company." 

But  here  an  end  was  j)ut  to  the  discussion  by 
some  of  the  boys  without  crying,  "  Dinner !  " 

«  Dinner  !  "  repeated  Jack.  "  Hurrah  !  let's  go  and 
draw  our  rations." 

Three  or  four  young  volunteers  now  came  into  the 
tent,  and,  opening  their  haversacks,  drew  forth  their 
tin  plates,  knives  and  forks.  Frank  did  the  same, 
and  observing  that  they  all  took  their  tin  cups,  he 
took  his  also,  and  followed  them,  with  quite  as  much 
curiosity  as  appetite,  to  the  cook-shop,  where  a  large 
piece  of  bread  and  a  thick  slice  of  boiled  beef  was 
dealt  out  to  each,  together  with  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"  How  droll  it  seems  to  eat  rations ! "  said  Frank, 
on  their  return,  seating  himself  on  his  bed,  —  a  tick 
filled  with  straw,  —  and  using  his  lap  for  a  table. 
The  bread  was  sweet ;  but  the  beef  was  of  not  quite 


2o  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

SO  fine  a  quality  as  Frank  had  been  used  to  at  home ; 
and  the  coffee  was  not  exactly  like  his  mother's. 

"Here,  have  some  milk,"  said  Jack.  "I've  an 
account  open  with  this  woman "  —  a  wrinkled  old 
creature,  who  came  into  the  tent  with  a  little  girl, 
bearing  baskets  of  cake  and  fruits,  and  a  can  of  milk. 

"No,  I  thank  you,"  said  Frank.  "I  may  as  well 
begin  with  the  fare  I  shall  have  to  get  used  to  some 
time,  for  I  mean  to  send  all  my  pay  home  to  my  folks 
except  what  I'm  actually  obliged  to  use  myself." 

"  You'll  be  a  goose  if  you  do  ! "  retorted  Jack,  "  I 
shan't  send  home  any  of  mine.  I'm  my  own  man 
now,  ye  see,  and  what  I  earn  of  Uncle  Sam  I'm  going 
to  have  a  gallus  old  time  with,  you  may  bet  your  life 
on  that ! " 

Frank  drew  a  long  breath,  for  he  felt  that  the  time 
had  now  come  to  have  the  talk  with  his  friend  which 
Mr.  Winch  had  requested. 

"  I  saw  your  father,  this  morning.  Jack." 

"  Did  ye  though  ?  What  did  the  old  sinner  have  to 
say?" 

"  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  call  your  father  such 
names,"  said  Frank,  seriously.  "  And  if  you  had  seen 
how  bad  he  felt,  when  he  spoke  of  your  enlisting ^" 

"  Pshaw,  now,  Frank !  don't  be  green !  don't  get 
into  a  pious  strain,  I  beg  of  ye  !  You'll  be  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  all  the  boys,  if  ye  do." 


UNDER    CANVAS.  29 

Frank  blushed  to  the  eyes,  not  knowing  what  reply- 
to  make.  He  had  felt  no  little  pride  in  Mr.  Winch's 
responsible  charge  to  him,  and  had  intended  to  preach' 
to  his  more  reckless  companion  a  good,  sound,  moral 
discourse  on  this  occasion.  But  to  have  his  overtures 
received  in  this  manner  was  discouraging, 

"  Come,"  continued  Jack,  taking  something  from 
the  straw,  "  we  are  soldiers  now,  and  must  do  as 
soldiers  do.  Have  a  drink,  Frank  ?  "  —  presenting  a 
small  bottle. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  Frank  asked,  and  when  told, 
"Brandy,"  he  quickly  withdrew  the  hand  he  had 
extended.  "No,  I  thank  you.  Jack.  I  am  not  going 
to  drink  any  thing  of  that  sort,  unless  I  need  it  as  a 
medicine.  And  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  getting  into 
such  habits  so  soon." 

"Habits?  what  habits?"  retorted  Jack,  blushing 
in  his  turn.  "  A  little  liquor  don't  hurt  a  fellow.  1 
take  it  only  as  a  medicine.  Tfca  musn't  go  to  being 
squeamish  down  here,  I  tell  you."  And  Jack  drank  a 
swallow  or  two,  smacking  his  lips  afterwards,  as  he 
returned  the  cork  to  the  bottle. 

By  this  time  Frank's  courage  was  up  —  his  moral 
courage,  I  mean,  which  is  more  rare,  as  it  is  far  more 
noble,  than  any  merely  physical  bravery  in  the  face  of 
danger. 

*I  don't  mean   to   be   squeamish,"  he   said;  "but 


30  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

right  is  right,  and  wrong  is  wrong,  Jack.  And  what 
was  wrong  for  us  at  home  isn't  going  to  be  right  for 
us  here.  I,  for  one,  believe  we  can  go  through  this 
war  without  doing  any  thing  that  will  make  our 
parents  ashamed  of  us  Avhen  we  return." 

"  My  eye  !  "  jeered  his  companion  ;  "  and  do  you 
fancy  a  little  swallow  of  brandy  is  going  to  make  my 
folks  ashamed  of  me  ?  " 

"It  isn't  the  single  swallow  I  object  to.  Jack;  it's 
the  habit  of  drinking.  That's  a  foolish  thing,  to  say 
the  least,  for  young  fellows,  like  you  and  me,  to  get 
into  ;  and  we  all  know  what  it  leads  to.  Who  wants 
to  become  a  tobacco-spitting,  i-um-drinking,  filthy  old 
man  ?  " 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha, "  laughed  Jack ;  rather  feebly,  how- 
ever, for  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  Frank  was  as 
much  in  the  right  as  he  was  in  the  wrong.  "You 
look  a  long  ways  ahead,  it  seems  to  me.  I  haven't 
thought  of  being  an  old  man  yet." 

"If  we  live,  we  shall  be  men,  and  old  men,  too, 
some  day,"  said  Frank,  without  minding  his  sneers. 
"  And  you  know  we  are  laying  the  foundations  of  our 
future  characters  now." 

"  That's  what  your  mother,  or  your  Sunday  school 
teacher,  has  been  saying  to  you." 

"  No  matter  who  has  said  it.  I  know  it's  true,  and  I 
hope  I  never  shall  forget  it.    I  mean  to  become  a  true, 


rnSTDEE   CANVAS.  31 

honest  man  if  I  live ;  and  now,  I  believe,  is  the  time 
to  begin." 

"  O,  no  doubt  you'll  be  great  things,"  grinned  Jack. 

The  tone  in  which  he  said  this  was  highly  offensive ; 
and  Frank  was  provoked  to  retort, — 

"  You  don't  seem  even  to  have  thought  what  you 
are  going  to  be.  You  try  first  one  thing,  then 
another,  and  stick  to  nothing.  That's  what  your 
father  said  this  morning,  with  tears  in  his  eyes." 

Jack  turned  red  as  fire,  either  with  anger  or  shame, 
or  both,  and  seemed  meditating  a  passionate  reply, 
when  some  of  his  companions,  who  had  been  eating 
their  rations  outside,  entered  the  tent. 

"Come  in,  boys,"  cried  Jack,  "and  hear  Frank 
preach.  You  didn't  know  we  had  a  chaplain  in  our 
company — did  ye?  That's  the  parson,  the^,  with  the 
girl's  hair.  He  can  reel  you  off  sermons  like  any 
thing.     Fire  away,  Franks  and  show  the  boys." 

"  Yes,  steam  up,  parson,"  said  Joe  Hams,  "  and  give 
us  a  specimen." 

"  Play  away,  seven,"  cried  Ned  Ellis,  as  if  Frank 
had  been  a  fire-engine  of  that  number. 

These,  together  with  other  facetious  remarks,  made 
Frank  so  ashamed  and  confused  that  he  could  not  say 
a  word.  For  experience  had  not  yet  taught  him  that 
even  the   most  reckless  and  depraved,  however  they 


32  THE   DRUMMER    BOY. 

may  laugh  at  honest  seriousness  in  a  companion,  can- 
not help  respecting  him  for  it  in  their  hearts. 

"  You  needn't  blush  so,  young  chap,"  said  tall 
Abram  Atwater,  a  stalwart,  square-shouldered,  sqaare- 
featured  young  man  of  twenty,  who  alone  had  not 
joined  in  the  derisive  merriment.  "  It  won't  hurt  any 
of  these  fellows  to  preach  to  them,  and  they  know  it." 

Frank  cast  a  grateful  look  at  the  tall  soldier,  who, 
though  almost  a  stranger  to  him,  had  thus  generously 
taken  his  part  against  some  who  professed  to  be  his 
friends.  He  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not  articulate  a 
word,  he  was  still  feeling  so  hurt  by  Jack's  ingi-ati- 
tude.  Perhaps  his  pride  was  as  much  wounded  as  his 
friendship;  for,  as  we  have  hinted,  he  had  been  a  good 
deal  puffed  up  with  the  idea  of  his  influence  over  Jack. 
This  incident,  as  we  shall  see,  had  a  bad  effect  upon 
Frank  himself;  for,  instead  of  persevering  in  the  good 
work  he  had  undertaken,  he  was  inclined  to  give  up 
%ll  hope  of. exerting  an  influence  upon  any  body. 

In  the  mean  time  Jack  was  washing  down  the  ser- 
mon, as  he  said,  with  more  brandy. 

"  'Twas  such  an  awful  dry  discourse,  boys ; "  and  he 
passed  the  bottle  around  to  the  others,  who  all  drank, 
except  Abram  Atwater.  That  stalwart  young  soldier 
stood  in  the  midst  of  the  tent,  straight  and  tall,  with 
his  arms  calmly  folded  under  his  blue  cape  (a  favorite 
attitude  of  his),  and  merely  shook  his  nead,  with  a 


TINDER    CANYAS.  33 

mild  vand  tolerant  smile,  when  the  liquor  was  passed 
to  him. 

Such  was  the  beginning  of  Frank's  camp  life.  It 
was  not  long  before  he  had  recovered  fi-om  his  confu- 
sion, and  was  apparently  on  good  terras  with  his  mess- 
mates. He  spent  the  afternoon  in  walking  about  the 
camp ;  watching  some  raw  recruits  at  their  drill ; 
watching  others  playing  cards,  or  checkers,  or  back 
gammon ;  getting  acquainted,  and  learning  the  ways 
of  the  camp  generally. 

So  the  day  passed ;  and  that  night  Frank  lay  for 
the  first  time  soldier-fashion,  under  canvas.  He  went 
to  bed  with  his  clothes  on,  and  drew  his  blanket  over 
him.  It  was  not  like  going  to  bed  in  his  nice  little 
room  at  home,  with  "Willie  snuggled  warmly  beside 
him ;  yet  there  was  a  novelty  in  this  rude  and  simple 
mode  of  life  that  was  charming.  His  companions,  who 
lay  upon  the  ground  around  him,  kept  him  awake  with 
their  stories  long  after  the  lights  were  out ;  but  at 
■  length,  weary  with  the  day's  excitement,  he  fell  asleep. 

There,  —  a  dweller  now  in  the  picturesque  white 
city  of  tents  gleaming  in  the  moonlight,  ruggedly  pil- 
lowed on  his  soldier's  couch,  those  soft  brown  curls 
tossed  over  the  arm  beneath  his  head,  —  the  drummer 
boy  dreamed  of  home.  The  last  night's  consultation 
and  the  morning's  farewells  were  lived  over  again  in 

the  visions  of  his  brain;  and  once  more  his  mother 

« 

3 


34  THE    DKUMMEE   BOY. 

visited  his  bedside  ;  and  again  his  father  accompanied 
him  to  the  recruiting  office.  But  now  the  recruiting 
office  was  changed  into  a  barber's  shop,  which  seemed 
to  be  a  tent  supported  by  a  striped  pole ;  where,  at 
John  Winch's  suggestion,  he  was  to  have  his  hair 
trimmed  to  the  fighting-cut.  The  barber  was  a  stiff- 
looking  officer  in  epaulets,  who  heated  a  sword  red- 
hot  in  an  oven,  while  Frank  preached  to  him  a  neat 
little  sermon  over  his  ration.  Then  the  epaulets 
changed  to  a  pair  of  roosters  with  flaming  red  combs, 
that  flapped  their  wings  and  crowed.  And  the  barber, 
approaching  Frank  with  his  red-hot  sword,  made  him 
lie  on  his  back  to  be  shaved.  Then  followed  an 
excruciating  sense  of  having  his  hair  pulled  and  his 
face  scraped  and  burnt,  which  made  him  move  and 
mm-mur  in  his  sleep ;  until,  a  ruthless  attempt  being 
made  to  thrust  the  sword  up  his  nostrils,  he  awoke. 

Shouts  of  laughter  greeted  him.  His  companions 
had  got  up  at  midnight,  lighted  a  candle,  and  burnt  a 
tork,  with  which  they  had  been  gi^^ng  him  an  arti- 
ficial mustache  and  whiskers.  He  must  have  been 
a  ludicrous  sight,  with  his  countenance  thus  orna- 
mented, sitting  up  on  his  bed,  rubbing  his  eyes  open, 
and  staring  about  him,  while  Winch  and  Harris 
shrieked  with  mirth,  and  Ned  Ellis  flapped  his  arms 
and  crowed. 

Frank  put  up  his  hand  to  his  head.     O  grief!  his 


UNDER    CANVAS.  35 

curls  had  been  mangled  by  dull  shears  m  the  unskilful 
hands  of  John  Winch.  The  depredator  was  still  bran- 
dishing the  miserable  instrument,  which  he  had  bor- 
rowed for  the  occasion  of  the  fellow  who  cut  the  com- 
pany's hair  in  the  "  Owl  House." 

FrankV  sudden  awaking,  astonishment,  and  chagrin 
were  almost  too  much  for  him.  He  could  have  cried 
to  think  of  a  friend  playing  him  such  a  trick ;  and  to 
think  of  his  lost  curls  !  But  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  endure  every  thing  that  might  befall  him  with 
unflinching  fortitude.  He  must  not  seem  weak  on  an 
occasion  like  this.  His  future  standing  with  his  com- 
rades might  depend  upon  what  he  should  say  and  do 
next.  So  he  summoned  all  his  stoutness  of  heart,  and 
accepted  the  joke  as  good-naturedly  as  was  possible 
under  the  circumstances. 

"  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  what  the  fun  is,"  he  said,  "  so 
that  I  can  laugh  too."  ' 

"Give  him  the  looking-glass,"  cried  Jack  Winch, 
holding  the  candle,  while  Ellis  stopped  crowing,  to 
bring  a  little  three-cornered  fi'agment  of  a  broken 
mirror,  by  which  Frank  was  shown  the  artistic  burnt- 
cork  work  on  his  face.  He  could  hardly  help  laughing 
himself  at  his  own  hideousness,  now  that  the  first 
disagreeable  sense  of  being  the  sport  of  his  friends  had 
passed. 

"  I   hope  you   have   had   fun   enough    to    pay  for 


36  THE    DRUMMER    BOY.  ^ 

waking  me  up  out  of  the  queerest  dream  any  body 
ever  had,"  he  said.  And  he  told  all  about  the  barber, 
and  the  epaulets  that  became  roosters,  and  the  red- 
hot  sword  for  a  razor,  &c.  Then,  looking  at  himself 
again  in  the  piece  of  glass,  he  called  out,  "  Give  me 
those  shears ; "  and  taking  them,  he  manfully  cut  off 
his  mutilated  curls.  "  There,  that  isn't  exactly  the 
fighting-cut.  Jack,  but  'twill  do.  Now,  boys,  tell  some 
more  of  those  dull  stories,  and  I  guess  I  can  go  to 
sleep  again." 

And  he  lay  down  once  more,  declining  to  accept  an 
urgent  invitation  to  preach. 

"  There,  boys,"  said  stout  Abram  Atwater,  who  had 
sat  all  the  time  cross-legged,  a  silent,  gravely-smiling 
spectator  of  the  scene,  "  you  shan't  fool  him  any  more. 
He  has  got  pluck;  he  has  shown  it.  And  now  let 
him   alone." 


IV. 

THE  OLD  DRUMMER  AND  THE  NEW  DRUM. 

As  yet,  Frank  had  no  drum.  Neither  had  he  any- 
scientific  knowledge  of  the  instrument.  He  was  am- 
bitious of  entering  upon  his  novel  occupation,  and  was 
elated  to  learn,  the  next  morning,  that  he  was  to  begin 
his  acquaintance  with  the  noble  art  of  drumming  that 
very  day. 

"  The  sergeant  is  inquiring  for  you,"  said  Abram  At- 
water,  with  his  mild,  pleasant  smile,  callings  him  out  of 
the  tent. 

Frank,  who  was  writing  a  letter  to  his  mother,  on 
his  knapsack,  jumped  up  with  alacrity,  hid  his  paper, 
and  ran  out  to  see  what  was  wanted. 

"  This  way.  Manly,"  said  the  sergeant.  "  Here's  the 
man  that's  to  give  you  lessons.     Go  with  him." 

The  teacher  was  a  veteran  drummer,  with  a  twin- 
kling gray  eye,  a  long,  thick,  gray  mustache,  and  a 
rather  cynical  way  of  showing  his  teeth  under  it.  He 
had  some  drumsticks  thrust  into  his  pocket,  but  no 
drum. 

(37) 


88  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"I  suppose,"  thought  Frank,  "we  shall  find  our 
drums  in  the  woods  ;"  into  which  his  instructor 
straightway  conducted  him  in  order  to  be  away  from 
the  diversions  and  noises  of  the  camp. 

Frank  was  disappointed.  The  veteran  gave  him  his 
first  exercise  —  on  a  board  1 

"  I  thought  I  was  to  learn  on  a  drum,"  he  ventured 
to  suggest,  looking  up,  not  without  awe,  at  the  bushy 
mustache. 

"You  don't  want  a  drum  till  you  know  how  to 
drum,"  said  the  veteran. 

"  But  I  should  think  it  would  be  better " 

"  Wait ! "  lifting  his  dramstick.  "  Do  you  under- 
stand what  we  are  here  for  ?  " 

.   "  To  learn  to  drum,"  replied  Frank,  in  some  astonish- 
ment. 

"  To  learn  to  drum,"  repeated  the  veteran,  a  curious 
smile  just  raising  the  comers  of  that  grizzled  mus- 
tache. "  You  understand  correctly.  Now,  am  I  your 
teacher,  or  are  you  mine  ?  " 

"You  are  mine,  sir,"  answered  the  boy,  still  more 
amazed. 

"Right  again!"  exclaimed  the  professor.  "That's 
the  way  I  understood  it ;  but  I  might  be  wrong,  you 
know.     We  are  all  liable  to  be  wrong  —  are  we  not  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Frank  stared. 


THE    OLD    DEUilMER.  39 

*'  Good  again  !  But  now  it  is  understood  coirectly ; 
I  am  your  instructor,  and  you  are  not  mine ;  that  is  it." 

Frank  assented. 

"  Very  well !  Now  listen.  Since  I  am  to  give  you 
lessons,  and  you  are  not  to  give  me  lessons,  you  will 
follow  the  method  I  propose,  and  excuse  me  if  I 
decline  to  follow  your  method.  That  is  reasonable, — 
isr.'tit?" 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  murmured  the  abashed  pupil. 

"  The  point  settled,  then,  we  will  proceed,"  said  the 
veteran,  with  the  same  incomprehensible,  half-sarcastic, 
half-humorous,  but  now  quite  good-natured  smile  hght- 
ing  up  his  grim  visage. 

"But  before  we  proceed,"  said  Frank,  "may  I  just 
say  what  I  was  going  to  ?  " 

The  old  drummer  lifted  both  his  sticks,  and  his  eye- 
brows too  (not  to  speak  of  his  shaggy  mustache),  in 
sui'prise  at  the.lad's  audacity. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  report  you  as  insubordinate  ?  " 
he  asked,  after  a  pause,  during  which  the  two  regarded 
each  other  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  two  dogs  mak- 
ing acquaintance  —  a  tall,  leering  old  mastiff  looking 
surlily  down  at  the  advances  of  an  anxious  yet  stout 
and  unflinching  young  spaniel. 

"  No,  sir,"  answered  Frank.     "  But  I  thought " 

"  You  thought !     What  business  have  you  to  think  ?  " 

"  No  business,  perhaps,"  Frank  admitted,  confi-onting 


40  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

the  weather-beaten  old  drummer  with  his  truthful,  un- 
daunted, fine  young  face.  "  But  I  can't  help  thinking 
gu',  for  all  that." 

"  You  can  help  expressing  your  thoughts  out  of  sea- 
son, though,"  said  the  veteran. 

"I  will  try  to  in  ftiture,  sir,"  answered  Frank, 
iaughing. 

At  the  same  time  a  smile  of  genuine  benevolence 
softened  the  tough,  ancient  visage  of  the  veteran  ;  and 
they  proceeded  with  the  lesson. 

After  it  was  over,  the- teacher  said  to  the  pupil, — 

"  Now,  my  young  friend,  I  will  hear  that  observa- 
tion or  question  of  yours,  whatever  it  is." 

"  I  think  I  have  answered  it  for  myself,"  said  Frank. 
"  I  was  going  to  say,  I  should  think  it  would  be  better 
to  learn  to  drum  on  a  drum ;  but  I  see  now,  if  I  get  to 
roll  the  sticks  on  a  board,  which  is  hard,  I  can  roll 
them  so  much  the  better  on  a  drumhead,  which  is 
elastic." 

"  Right,  my  young  fiiend,"  replied  the  veteran,  ap 
provingly.     "  And  in  the  mean  time,  we  avoid  a  good 
deal   of  unjjleasant  noise,    as  you  see."     For  he  had 
other  pupils  practising  under  his  eye  in  the  woods,  not 
far  from  Frank. 

"  And  I  should  like  to  ask  —  if  I  could  have  pennis- 
sion,"  began  Frank,  archly. 

*  Ask  me  any  thing  you  please,  out  of  lesson-hours." 


THE    OLD    DRUMMER.  41 

And  the   old   drummer  patted  the  young  drummer's 
shoulder. 

Frank  felt  encouraged.  He  was  beginning  to  like 
his  teacher,  notwithstanding  his  odd  ways;  and  he 
hoped  the  old  man  was  beginning  to  like  him. 

"I  want  to  know,  then,  if  you  think  I  will  make  a 
drummer  ?  " 

"  And  what  if  you  will  not  ?  " 

"Then  I  shall  think  I  ought  to  give  up  the  idea  of  it 
at  once;  for  I  don't  want  to  be  second-rate  in  any 
thing  I  once  undertake." 

"And  you  have  been  just  a  little  discouraged  over 
your  first  lesson  ?  and  would  be  willing  now  to  give 
up?" 

"  No,  sir.  I  should  feel  very  bad  to  be  obliged  to 
give  up  the  drum." 

"  Yery  well.  Then  I  can  say  something  to  comfort 
you.  Stick  to  it,  as  you  have  begun,  and  you  will 
make  a  drummer." 

"  A  first-rate  one  ?  "  Frank  asked,  eagerly. 
"  First-rate,  or  else  I  am  no  judge." 
"I  am  glad!"  and  the  delighted  pupil  fairly  jumped 
for  joy. 

From  that  time  the  twp  got  on  capitally  together. 
Frank  soon  became  accustomed  to  the  veteran's  eccen- 
tric manners,  and  made  great  proficiency  in  his  exer- 
cises.    And  it  was  not  long  before  the  hard-featured 


42  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

old  drummer  began  to  manifest,  in  his  way,  a  groat  deal 
of  friendlj  interest  in  his  young  pupil. 

"  Now,  my  boy,"  said  he  one  day,  after  Frank  had 
been  practising  successfully  the  "seven-stroke  roll,'* 
greatly  to  the  satisfaction  of  his  instructor, —  "now, 
my  boy,  I  think  you  can  be  safely  intrusted  with  your 
comrade." 

"  My  comrade  ?  "  queried  the  pupil. 

"  I  mean,  your  better  half." 

"My  better  half?" 

Frank  was  mystified. 

"  Yes,  your  wife."  And  the  grizzly  mustache  curled 
with  quiet  humor. 

"I  must  be  a  maiTved  man  without  knowing  it!" 
laughed  Frank. 

"  Your  ship,  then,"  said  the  veteran,  dryly.  "  Come 
with  me." 

And  conducting  Frank  to  his  tent,  he  took  from  one 
side  an  object  covered  with  a  blanket. 

"My  shi])!"  cried  Frank,  jojifully,  already  guessing 
what  treasure  was  now  to  be  his. 

"Your  sword,  then,  if  you  like  that  name  better. 
For  what  his  sword  is  to  a  hero,  what  his  ship  is  to  a 
true  sailor,  what  a  wife  is  to  a  true  husband, —  such,  my 
young  friend,  to  a  genuine  drummer  is  his  drum." 

So  saying,  the  veteran  threw  aside  the  covering,  and 
presented  to  his  pupil  the  long-coveted  prize.      The 


THE    NEW    DKXJM.  43 

boy's  eyes  shone  with  pleasure,  and  (as  he  wrote  that 
evening  to  his  parents)  he  was  so  happy  he  could  have 
hugged  both  the  old  drummer  and  the  new  drum. 

"  I  selected  it  for  yon,  and  you  may  be  sure  it  is  a 
good  one.  It  won't  be  any  handsomer,  but,  if  you  use 
it  well,  it  won't  be  really  much  the  worse,  for  going 
through  a  campaign  or  two  with  you.  For  it  is  with 
drums  as  it  is  with  the  drummers ;  they  grow  old,  and 
get  some  honorable  scratches,  and  some  unlucky  bruises, 
and  now  and  then  a  broken  head ;  but,  God  prospering 
them,  they  come  out,  at  last,  ugly  to  look  at,  perhaps  " 
(the  veteran  stroked  his  mustache),  "but  well-seasoned, 
and  sound,  and  very  truly  at  your  service." 

Frank  thought  he  saw  a  tear  in  his  twinkling  gray 
eye,  and  he  was  so  much  affected  by  it,  that  he  caught 
his  hand  in  both  of  his,  exclaiming,  "  Bless  you,  dear 
sir !    Dear,  good  sir,  God  bless  you ! " 

The  old  man  winked  away  the  moisture  from  his 
eye,  smiling  still,  but  with  a  quivering  lip,  and  patted 
him  gently  on  the  shoulder,  without  saying  a  word. 

Frank  had  the  sense  to  perceive  that  the  interview 
was  now  over;  the  veteran  wished  to  be  left  alone; 
and,  with  the  new  di'um  at  his  side,  he  left  the  tent, 
proud  and  happy,  and  wishing  in  his  heart  that  he 
could  do  something  for  that  singular,  kind  old  man. 

As  Frank  was  hastening  to  his  tent,  he  was  met 
by   one   of  the  captains    u    his  regiment,  who,   see 


44  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

■*■ 

ing  the  right  beaming  face  and  new  drum,  accosted 
him. 

"  So,  you  are  a  drummer  boy  —  are  you?" 

"Yes,  sii',  I  am  learning  to  be  one,"  said  Frank, 
modestly. 

Now,  these  two  had  seen  each  other  often  in  camp, 
and  the  captain  had  always  regarded  Frank  with  a 
smile  of  interest  and  kindness,  and  Frank  (as  he  wrote 
home)  had  "  always  liked  the  looks  of  the  captain  first- 
rate." 

"  I  saw  you,  I  think,  the  day  you  came  here,"  said 
the  captain.  "  You  had  some  curls  then.  What  has 
become  of  them  ?  " 

Frank's  lip  twitched,  and  he  cast  down  his  eyes, 
ashamed  to  betray  iiny  hngering  feehng  on  that  sub- 
ject. 

"  The  boys  cut  them  off  in  my  sleep,  sir." 

"  The  rogues ! "  exclaimed  the  captain.  "  And  what 
did  you  do  ?  " 

Frank  lifted  his  eyes  with  a  smile.  "I  partly  finished 
them  myself — they  had  haggled  them  so;  and  the 
next  day  I  found  a  man  to  cut  my  hair  nicely." 

"Well,  it  is  better  so,  perhaps:  short  hair  for  a  sol- 
dier. But  I  liked  those  curls.  They  reminded  me  of 
a  little  sister  of  mine  —  she  is  gone  now  —  "  in  a  low, 
mellow  tone.     "  Are  you  attached  to  any  company  ?  " 

"I  am  enlisted  in  the  Jackson  Blues." 


THE    NEW    DRUM.  46 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

«  Frauk  Manly,  sir." 

"  Are  you  any  relation  to  Mrs.  Manly,  of ?  " 

"She  is  my  mother,  sir,"  said  Frank,  with  proud 
affection. 

"  Is  it  possible !  Mrs.  Manly's  son !  Indeed,  you  look 
Hke  her." 

"  Do  you  know  my  mother,  sir  ?  " 

"  My  lad,"  said  the  captain,  "  I  used  to  go  to  school 
to  her.  But,  though  I  have  heard  of  her  often,  I 
haven't  seen  her  for  years." 

"  I  shall  write  to  her,  and  tell  her  about  you,"  said 
Frank,  delighted.  "She  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I 
have  found  so  good  a  friend." 

"  Ask  her,"  said  the  captain,  "  if  she  remembers  Hen- 
ry Edney,  who  used  to  go  to  school  to  her  in . 

She  Avill  recollect  me,  I  am  sure.  And  give  my  very 
kind  regards  to  her,  and  to  your  father ;  and  tell  them 
I  regret  I  didn't  see  you  before  you  enlisted,  for  I  want 
just  such  a  drummer  boy  in  my  company.  But  never 
mind,"  he  added  quickly,  as  if  conscious  of  having 
spoken  indiscreetly,  "  you  will  do  your  duty  where  you 
are,  and  I  will  try  to  do  mine,  for  we  must  have  only 
one  thought  now  —  to  serve  our  country." 

They  separated,  with  more  kind  words  on  the  cap- 
tain's part,  and  with  expressions  of  gratitude  on  the 
part  of  Frank,  who  felt  that,  to  conapensate  him  for 


46  THE    DKUMMEK    BOY. 

John  Winch's  treachery,  he  was  ah-eady  securing  the 
friendship  of  a  few  of  the  best  of  men. 

You  may  be  sure  the  boy  wrote  to  his  mother  all 
about  the  interview,  and  told  her  how  sorry  he  was 
that  he  had  not  enlisted  in  Captain  Edney's  comjDany; 
not  only  because  he  liked  his  new  friend's  kindness  and 
affable  manners  so  well,  but  also  because  there  existed 
in  the  ranks  of  the   Jackson  Blues  a  strong  prejudice 

against  their  own  officers.     Captain was  almost  a 

stranger  to  his  men,  and  seemed  determined  to  con- 
tinue so.  He  seldom  appeared  amongst  them,  or 
showed  any  interest  in  their  welfare.  He  had  never 
once  drilled  them,  but  left  that  duty  entirely  to  the 
sergeant.  They  consequently  accused  him  boldly  of 
laziness,  ignorance,  and  conceit  —  three  qualities  which 
men  always  disHke  in  their  superiors.  How  different 
was   Captain  Edneyl 


V. 

FUN  IN   CAMP. 

Fbank  now  practised  his  lessons  on  his  drum,  and 
was  very  hapi3y.  He  had  passed  the  smrgical  exami- 
nation a  few  days  after  his  arrival  in  camp,  and  been 
duly  sworn  into  the  service.  This  latter  ceremony 
made  a  strong  impression  on  his  mind.  He  stood  in 
the  open  air,  together  with  a  number  of  new  recruits, 
and  heard  the  Articles  of  War  read ;  after  which  they 
all  took  off  their  caps,  and  held  up  their  right  hands, 
while  the  oath  was  administered. 

One  day,  on  returning  to  camp  after  his  lesson  in 
the  woods,  he  was  astonished  to  see  Jack  "Winch,  with 
his  cap  off,  his  fighting-cut  displayed  to  all  behold- 
ers, and  his  fist  shaking,  marched  off  by  armed 
soldiers. 

"  What  are  they  doing  with  Jack  ?  "  he  hastened  to 
inquire  of  Abram  Atwater,  who  stood  among  his  com- 
rades with  his  arms  composedly  crossed  under  his 
cape. 

"He  is  put  under  guard,"  said  the  tall,  taciturn 
soldier.  ciT) 


48  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  You  see,"  cried  Joe  Harris,  coming  up,  "  Jack  had 
tipped  the  bottle  once  too  often,  and  got  noisy.  The 
sergeant  told  him  to  keep  still.  *Dry  up  yourself,' 
says  Jack.  '  Start,'  says  the  sergeant ;  and  he  took 
hold  of  him  to  push  him  towards  the  tent ;  but  the 
next  he  knew,  he  got  a  blow  square  in  the  face, — 
Jack  was  so  mad  I  ** 

'^  Come,  boys,"  said  Ned  Ellis,  "  le's  go  over  and  see 
how  he  likes  the  fun." 

The  proposal  was  accepted ;  and  presently  a  strong 
deputation  of  the  Blues  went  to  pay  a  visit  to  their 
disgraced  comrade.  Ai-rived  at  the  guard  tent,  a 
couple  of  sentinels  crossed  their  bayonets  before  them. 
But  although  they  could  not  enter,  they  could  look 
m  ;  and  there,  seated  on  the  ground,  they  saw  Jack,  in 
a  2^osition  which  would  have  appeared  excessively 
ludicrous  to  Frank,  but  that  it  seemed  to  him  too  piti- 
ful to  behold  any  comrade  so  degraded.  In  conse- 
quence of  his  continued  fury  and  violence.  Jack  had 
been  secured  in  this  fashion.  Imagine  a  grotesque 
letter  JV,  to  which  feet,  arms,  and  a  head  have  been 
added,  and  you  have  some  idea  of  his  posture,  as  seen 
ill  profile.  His  Tinees  were  elevated;  forming  the 
upper  angle  of  the  letter.  The  lower  angle  was  rep- 
resented by  that  portion  of  the  body  which  forms  the 
seat  of  the  human  animal.  The  arms  were  passed 
over  the  upper  angle,  that  is,  the  knees,  and  kept  in 


FUN    IN    CAMP.  49 

their  \AaGe  by  handcuffs  on  the  wrists,  and  by  a 
musk3t  thrust  through,  over  the  arms  and  under  the 
knees. 

"  Can't  you  untie  them  iron  knots  with  your  teeth, 
Jack  ?  "  said  Joe,  meaning  the  handcuffs. 

"  How  do  you  like  the  back  to  your  chair  ?  "  said 
Ned. 

"  Let's  see  ye  turn  a  somerset  backwards,  Jack." 

And  so  forth.  But  Frank  did  not  insult  him  in  his 
disgrace. 

Winch  was  by  this  time  sufficiently  sobered  and 
humbled.  He  destroyed  the  symmetry  of  the  iV  by 
doubling  himself  ingloriously  over  his  knees  and  hid- 
ing his  face  between  them. 

"Got  the  colic.  Jack?"  asked  Harris  —  "  you  double 
up  so." 

Winch  glared  up  at  him  a  moment,  —  a  ludicrous 
picture,  with  that  writhing  face  and  that  curious 
fighting-cut,  —  but  cast  down  his  eyes  again,  sulkily,, 
and  said  nothing. 

"Come  away,  boys,"  whispered  Frank.  "Don't 
stay  here,  making  fun  of  him.     Why  do  you  ?  " 

"Jack,"  said  Ellis,  "we're  going  to  take  a  drink. 
Won't  you  come  along  with  us  ?  "  —  tauntingly. 

And  the  Blues  dispersed,  leaving  poor  Jack  to  his 
own  bitter  reflections. 

He  had  learned  one  thing  —  who  Hs  Mends  were, 
4 


50  THE    JRUMMEK    BOY. 

On  being  released,  he  shunned  Harris  and  Ellis  cs 
pecially,  for  a  day  or  two,  and  paid  his  court  to 
Frank. 

"  I'm  going  to  tell  you  something,  Frank,"  said  he, 
as  they  were  once  at  the  pond-side,  washing  their 
plates  after  dinner.  "I'm  going  to  leave  the  com- 
panjT;^' 

«  Leave  the  Blues  ?  "  said  Frank. 

"  Yes,  and  quit  the  service.     I've  got  sick  of  it." 

"  But  I  thought  you  liked  it  so  well." 

"  Well,  I  did  at  first.  It  was  a  kind  of  novelty. 
Come,  le's  leave  it.     X  will." 

"  But  how  can  you  ?  " 

"Easy  enough.  I  am  under  age,  and  my  father  '11 
get  me  off." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  be  ashamed  to  ask  him 
to,"  Frank  could  not  help  saying,  with  honest  con- 
tempt. 

Jack  was  not  offended  this  time  by  his  plainness,  for 
he  had  learned  that  those  are  not,  by  any  means,  our 
worst  friends,  who  truly  tell  us  our  faults. 

"  I  don't  care,"  he  said,  putting  on  an  air  of  reck- 
lessness. "  I  ain't  going  to  lead  this  miserable  dog's 
life  in  camp  any  longer,  if  I  have  to  desert "  —  lower- 
ing his  voice  to  a  whisper ;  "  we  can  desert  just  as 
easy  as  not,  Frank,  if  we  take  a  notion." 

"  I,  for  one,"  said  Frank,  indignantly,  "  shan't  take  a 


FUN    IN    CAMP.  61 

notioi.  to  do  any  thing  so  dishonorable.  ^\ye  enlisted 
of  our  own  free  will,  and  I  think  it  would  be  the 
meanest    and    most    dishonest    thing    we    could    do 

to   " 

"  Hush  ! "  whisjDered  Jack.  "  There's  Atwater ;  he'll 
he:jr  us." 

At  midnight  the  drummer  boy  was  awakened  by  a 
commotion  in  the  tent. 

"  Come,  Frank,"  said  some  one,  pulling  him  vio- 
lently, "we  are  going  to  have  some  great  fun. 
Hurrah ! " 

Frank  jumped  up.  The  boys  were  leaving  the  tent. 
He  had  already  suspected  that  mischief  was  meditated, 
and,  anxious  to  see  what  it  was,  he  ran  out  after 
them. 

He  found  the  company  assembled  in  a  dark,  myste- 
rious mass  in  the  street  before  the  row  of  tents. 

"  Get  a  rope  around  his  neck,"  said  one. 

"  Burn  the  tent,"  said  another. 

"  With  hnn  in  it,"  said  a  third. 

« What  does  it  all  mean  ?  "  Frank  inquired  of  his 
friend  Atwater,  whom  he  found  quietly  listening  to  the 
conspirators. 

"A  little  fun  with  the  Gosling,  I  believe,"  said 
Atwater,  with  a  shrug.  "They'd  better  let  him 
alone." 


52  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  The  Gosling  "  was  the  nickname  which  the  Blaes 
had  bestowed  on  their  cajDtain, 

After  a  hurried  consultation  among  the  ringleaders, 
the  company  marched  to  the  tent  where  the  Gosling 
slept.  Only  Atwater,  Frank,  and  a  few  others  lin- 
gered in  the  rear. 

"  I  hope  they  won't  hurt  him,"  said  Frank.  "  Ought 
we  not  to  give  the  alarm  ?  " 

"  And  get  the  lasting  ill-will  of  the  boys  ? "  said 
Atwater.     "We  can't  afford  that." 

The  captain's  tent  was  surrounded.  Knives  were 
drawn.  Then,  at  a  concerted  signal,  the  ropes  sup- 
porting the  tent  were  cut.  At  the  same  time  the  cap- 
tain's bed,  which  made  a  convenieilt  protuberance  in 
the  side  of  the  tent,  was  seized  and  tipped  over,  while 
tent-pole,  canvas,  and  all,  came  down  upon  him  in  a 
mass. 

^'  Help  !  guard  !  heip  !  "  he  shrieked,  struggling 
under  the  heap. 

At  the  instant  a  large  pile  of  straw,  belonging  to 
the  quartermaster's  department  close  by,  burst  forth  in 
a  sheet  of  flame  which  illumined  the  camp  with  its 
glare. 

The  boys  now  ran  to  their  tents,  laughing  at  the 
])light  of  the  captain,  as  he  issued,  furious,  from  the 
ruins.  Frank  began  to  imn  too ;  but  thinking  that 
111  is  would  be  considered  an  indication  of  guilt,  he 
stopped.     Atwater  was  at  his  side. 


FUN    IN    CAMP.  58 

"  We  are  caught,"  said  Atwater,  cooll}'.  "  There's 
the  guard."  And  he  folded  his  ai-ms  under  his  cape 
and  waited. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  said  Frank,  in  great  distress , 
not  that  he  feared  the  advancing  bayonets,  but  he 
remembered  John  Winch's  arrest,  and  dreaded  a  simi- 
lar degradation. 

"  There  are  two  of  them,"  said  the  h;ilf-dressed  cap 
tain,  pointing  out  Frank  and  his  friend  to  the  officei 
of  the  guard. 

In  his  excitement  he  would  have  had  them  hurried 
off  at  once  to  the  guard-tent.  But  fortunately  the 
colonel  of  the  regiment,  who  had  been  writing  late  in 
his  tent,  heard  the  alarm,  and  was  already  on  the  spot. 
He  regarded  the  prisoners  by  the  light  of  the  burning 
straw.  Frank,  recovering  from  the  trepidation  of  find- 
ing himself  for  the  first  time  suiTounded  by  a  guard, 
and  subject  to  a  serious  accusation,  returned  his  look 
with  a  face  beaming  with  courage  and  innocence. 
The   colonel  smiled. 

"Have  you  been  meddling  with  Captain 's  bed, 

and  cutting  his  tent  down  ?  "  he  asked. 

"No,  sir,"  said  Frank,  with  a  mien  which  bore 
W^itness   to   the   truth. 

''  Do  you  know  who  set  that  fire  ?  " 

«  No,  sir." 

"  What  are  you  out  of  your  tent  for  ?  " 


54  THE    DEUMMER    HOY. 

"  I  came  to  see  the  fun,  sir.  If  it  was  wrong  I  am 
very  sorry." 

"  What  fun  ?  " 

"The  boys  were  going  to  have  some  fun;  I  didn't 
know  what,  and  I  came  to  see." 

«  What  boys  ?  " 

"  All  the  boys  in  our  company." 

"  Which  of  them  did  the  things  your  captain  com- 
plains of?  " 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  They  were  all  together;  and 
who  tipped  the  bed,  or  cut  the  ropes,  or  set  the  fire,  I 
can't  tell." 

"  It  seems  they  were  all  concerned,  then." 

"  Xo,  sir,  not  all.  Some  did  the  mischief,  and  the 
i*est  looked  on." 

"  Did  this  person  with  you  do  any  of  the  mis- 
chief?" 

"  No,  sir ;  he  was  w^th  me  all  the  time,  and  we  kept 
out  of  it." 

"How  happens  it,  then,  that  only  you  two  are 
caught  ?  " 

"  All  the  rest  ran." 

"  And  why  didn't  you  run  ?  " 

"We  had  not  been  doing  any  thing  to  run  for," 
Baid   Frank,  with   convincing  sincerity. 

Atwater  was  then  questioned,  ard  gave  similar 
answers. 


FUN    IN    CAMP.  55 

"  Captain ,"  said  the  colonel,  "1  think  it. is  evi- 
dent these  are  not  the  persons  who  are  most  deserving 
of  punishment.  This  boy,  certainly,  could  not  have 
been  very  deeply  concerned  in  the  assault,  and  I  am 
inclined  to  place  entire  confidence 'in  his  story." 

The  captain  himself  appeared  not  a  little  ashamed 
of  having  accused  one  so  young  and  ingenuous  as  the 
drummer  boy.  The  prisoners  were  accordingly  re- 
leased, and  the  investigation  of  the  affair  was  post- 
poned until  the  morrow.  Returning  with  Atwater  to 
their  tent,  Frank  could  not  repress  the  joy  he  felt  at 
their  fortunate  escape.  But  Atwater  took  the  whole 
affiir  with  astonishing  coolness,  exhibiting  no  more 
emotion  at  their  release  than  he  had  betrayed  at  their 
entrapment. 

"  What  a  fellow  you  are ! "  said  Frank,  staying  his 
enthusiastic  step,  while  his  companion,  with  slow  and 
stately  pace,  came  up  with  him.  "  You  don't  seem  to 
care  for  any  thing." 

"  Those  that  care  the  most  don't  always  show  it," 
said  Atwater,  laconically,  as  they  crept  back  into  the 
tent. 

All  was  hushed  and  dark  within ;  but  soon  they 
heard  whispers. 

"  Abe  !  Frank  !  that  you  ?  " 

And  they  soon  found  that  the  tent  was  full  of  the  • 
fugitives,  awaiting  their  return. 


56  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  What  made  you  let  'em  catch  you  ?  How  did  /ou 
get  off?  "  were  the  first  eager  inquiries. 

Dark  as  it  was,  Frank  thought  he  could  see  Atwater 
shrug  his  shoulders  and  look  to  him  for  the  required 
explanation.  For  Abram  was  a  fel]ow  of  few  words, 
and  Frank  was  glib  of  speech. 

So  Frank,  seated  on  his  bed,  related  their  adven- 
ture, to  the  great  delight  of  the  boys,  who  bestowed 
the  warmest  praises  upon  them  for  their  spirit  and 
fidelity.  They  had  stood  their  ground  when  deserted 
by  their  companions  ;  and,  although  they  had  told  the 
truth  about  the  whole  company,  they  had  not  incul- 
pated individuals.  Thus  Frank,  as  he  afterwards 
learned  with  pleasure,  had  by  his  courage  and  truth- 
ftilness  won  both  the  confidence  of  his  officers  and  the 
good  will  of  his  comrades. 

The  next  day  the  company  was  called  to  an  account 
for  the  offence.  In  reply  to  the  captain's  charges,  the 
sergeant,  acting  as  spokesman  for  the  rest,  stated  the 
grievances  of  the  men.  The  result  was,  that  the  cap- 
tain received  directions  to  exercise  his  company  in  the 
colonel's  presence;  and,  complying  reluctantly,  demon- 
strated his  own  inefficiency  in  a  manner  which  elicited 
the  meniment  of  spectators,  and  even  j^rovoked  the 
colonel  to  smile. 

Soon  after,  in  order  to  get  rid  of  so  incompetent  an 
officer,  and  at  the  same  time  punish  the  insubordina- 


H 

FUN    IX    CAMP.  57 

tion  of  the  men,  it  was  resolved  to  disband  the  com- 
pany. Thus  was  afforded  to  Frank  the  opportunity, 
which  seemed  to  him  almost  providential,  of  joining 
Captain  Edney's  company,  and  to  John  Winch  the 
desired  chance  to  quit  the  service,  of  which  he  had  so 
soon  grown  weary. 

At  this  time  the  boys'  fathers  came  down  together 
to  visit  them.  John  had  written  home  a  pitiftil  letter, 
and  Mr.  Winch  went  to  see  about  getting  him  off. 

But  Jack  was  no  sooner  out  of  the  service  than  he 
wished  to  be  in  again.  Frank,  Atwator,  and  several 
others,  had  joined  Captain  Edney's  company,  and  he 
determined  to  follow  their  example. 

"  O  John ! "  groaned  Mr.  Winch,  in  despair  at  this 
inconstancy,  "  when  will  you  learn  to  be  a  little  more 
steady-minded  ?  Here  I  have  come  expressly  to  plead 
your  cause,  and  get  you  off;  but  before  I  have  a 
chance,  you  change  your  mind  again,  and  noAV  noth 
ing  can  persuade  you  to  go  home." 

"  Well,"  said  John,  "  I  didn't  like  the  company  I 
was  in.  I'm  satisfied  now,  and  I'm  going  to  serve  my 
country." 

«  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Winch,  « I  shall  let  you  do 
as  you  please.  But  reflect ;  you  enlist  with  my  con- 
sent now,  and  you  must  dismiss  all  hope  of  getting  oflf 
next  time  you  are  sick  of  your  bargain." 

"  O,  I  shan't  be  sick  of  it  again,"  said  John,  as  full 


58  THE    DRUxMiLER    BOY. 

of  ambition  as  he  had  lately  been  of  discontent  and 
disloyalty. 

In  *the  mean  time  Frank  made  the  most  of  his 
father's  visit.  He  showed  him  his  new  tent,  his  knap- 
sack and  accoutrements,  and  his  handsome  drum.  He 
introduced  him  to  the  old  drummer,  and  to  Atwater, 
and  to  Captain  Edney.  The  latter  invited  them  both 
into  his  tent,  and  was  so  kind  to  them  that  Frank 
almost  shed  tears  of  gratitude,  to  think  that  his  father 
could  go  home  and  tell  what  a  favorite  he  was  with 
his  captain.  Then,  w^hen  dinner-time  came,  Frank 
drew  a  ration  for  his  father,  in  order  that  he  might 
know  just  what  sort  of  fare  the  soldiers  had,  and  how 
they  ate  it.  And  so  the  day  passed.  And  Frank 
accompanied  his  father  to  the  cars,  and  saw  him  off, 
sending  a  thousand  good  vsdshes  home,  and  promis- 
ing that  he  would  certainly  get  a  furlough  the  com- 
ing week,  and  visit  them. 


VI. 

BREAKING   CAMP. 

Fran^k  wais  disappointed  in  not  being  able  to  keep 
that  promise.  An  order  came  for  the  regiment  to  be 
ready  to  march  in  two  days ;  in  the  mean  time  no  fur- 
loughs could  be  granted. 

"I  am  sorry  for  you,  Frank,"  said  Caj  tain  Edney; 
"  and  I  would  make  an  exception  in  your  case,  if 
possible." 

"  No,  I  don't  ask  that,  sir,"  said  Frank,  stoutly.     "  I 

did  want  to  see  my  folks  again,  but "     He  turned 

away  his  face. 

"Well,"  said  the  captain,  "I  think  it  can  be  arranged 
so  that  you  shall  see  them  again,  if  only  for  a  short 
time.  You  can  warn  them  in  season  of  our  breaking 
camp,  and  they  will  meet  you  as  we  pass  through 
Boston." 

This  was  some  consolation ;  although  it  was  hard 
for  Frank  to  give  up  the  long-anticipated  pleasure  of 
visiting  his  family,  and  the  satisfaction  of  relating  his 
ex])erience  of  a  soldier's  life  to  his  sisters  and  mates. 

(o9) 


60  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

He  had  thought  a  good  deal,  with  innocent  vanity,  of 
the  wonder  and  admiration  he  would  excite,  in  his 
uniform,  fresh  from  camp,  and  bound  for  the  battle- 
fields of  his  country ;  but  he  had  thought  a  great  deal 
more  of  the  happiness  of  Vveathiug  again  the  atmos- 
phere of  love  and  sympatlij'  which  we  find  nowhere 
but  at  home. 

The  excitement  which  filled  the  camp  helped  him 
forget  his  disappointment.  The  regiment  was  in  fine 
spirits.  It  was  impatient  to  be  on  the  march.  Its 
destination  was  not  known;  some  said  it  was  to  be 
moved  directly  to  Washington  ;  others,  that  it  was  to 
rendezvous  at  Annapolis,  and  form  a  part  of  some  for- 
midable expedition  about  to  be  launched  against  the 
rebellion ;  but  all  agreed  that  what  every  soldier 
ardently  desired  was  now  before  them  —  active  ser- 
vice, and  an  enemy  to  be  conquered. 

The  two  days  in  which  time  the  regiment  was  to 
prepare  to  move,  became  three  days  —  four  days  —  a 
week;  unavoidable  obstacles  still  delayed  its  depart- 
ure, to  the  infinite  vexation  of  Frank,  who  saw  what 
a  long  furlough  he  might  have  enjoyed,  and  who 
repeatedly  sent  to  his  friends^  directions  when  and 
where  to  meet  tiim,  which  he  found  himself  obliged, 
each  time,  to  write  in  haste  and  countermand  the  next 
morning.  Such  are  some  of  the  annoyances  of  a 
soldier's  life. 


BREAKING    CAMP.  61 

But  at  lengih  the  long-delayed  orders  came.  They 
were  received  with  tumultuous  joy  by  the  impatient 
troops.  It  was  necessary  to  send  the  ponderous  bag- 
gage train  forward  a  day  in  advance;  and  the  tents 
were  struck  at  once.  All  was  bustle,  animation,  and 
hilarity  in  the  camp  ;  and  a  night  of  jubilee  followed. 

The  drummer  boy  never  forgot  that  night,  amid 
all  his  subsequent  adventures.  While  his  companions 
were  singing,  shouting,  and  kindling  fires,  he  could 
not  help  thinking,  as  he  watched  their  animated  figures 
lighted  up  by  the  flames,  that  this  was,  probably,  the 
last  night  many  of  them  would  ever  pass  in  their 
native  state ;  that  many  would  fall  in  battle,  and  find 
their  graves  in  a  southern  soil ;  and  that,  perhaps,  he 
himself  was  one  of  those  ^vho  w^ould  never  return. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  my  bold  soldier 
boy?"  said  a  familiar  voice,  while  a  gentle  hand  slapped 
him  on  the  back. 

He  turned  and  saw  the  bushy*  mustache  of  his 
friend  and  master,  the  old  drummer,  peering  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  O  Mr.  Sinjin ! "  said  Frank.  (The  veteran  wrote 
his  name  St.  John,  but  every  body  called  him  /Sinjin.) 
"I  was  afraid  I  should  not  see  you  again." 

"Eh,  and  why  not?" 

"Because  we  are  oiF  in  the  morning,  you  know, 
and  I  couldn't  find  you  to-day;  and " 


62  THE    DKUMMEU   BOY. 

"  And  what,  my  lad  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  regarding 
him  with  a  very  tender  smile. 

"  I  couldn't  bear  the  thought  of  going  without  see- 
ing you  once  more." 

"And  what  should  a  young  fellow  like  you  w^'mt 
to  see  an  ugly,  battered,  miserable  old  hulk  like  me, 
for?" 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  me,"  said  Frank, 
getting  hold  of  the  old  man's  hard,  rough  hand ;  "  and 
I  shall  be  sorry  to  part  with  you,  sir,  very  sorry." 

"  Well,  wxll."  The  veteran  l;ried  in  vain  to  appear 
careless  and  cynical,  as  he  commonly  did  to  other 
people.  "  You  are  young  yet.  You  believe  in  friend- 
ship, do  you  ?  " 

"  And  don't  you  ?  "  Frank  earnestly  inquired. 

"  I  did  once.  A  great  while  ago.  But  never  mind 
about  that.  I  believe  in  yoii^  my  boy.  Y^ou  have  not 
seen  the  world  and  grown  corrupted;  you  are  still 
capable  of  a  disinterested  attachment;  and  may  it 
be  long  before  the  thoughtlessness  of  some,  and  the 
treachery  of  others,  and  the  selfishness  of  all,  con- 
vince you  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  true  fiiend." 
And  the  old  drummer  gave  his  mustache  a  fierce 
jerk,  as  if  he  had  some  grudge  against  it. 

"  O  Mr.  Sinjin,"  said  Frank,  "I  shall  never  think  so 
and  I  am  sure  you  do  not.     Haven't  you  any  friends  ? 
Don't  you  really  care   for  any  body  ?      Here   are   all 


BREAKING    CAMP.  63 

these  boys;  you  know  a  good  many  of  us,  and  every 
body  that  knows  you  half  as  well  as  I  do,  likes  you ; 
and  we  are  going  off  now  in  a  few  hours,  and  some  o* 
us  will  never  come  back;  and  don't  you  care?" 

"  Few,  I  fancy,  think  of  me  as  you  do,"  said  the  old 
man,  in  a  shghtly  choking  voice.  "  They  call  me  Old 
Sinjin^  without  very  much  respect,"  grinning  grimly 
under  his  mustache. 

"  But  they  don't  mean  any  thing  by  that ;  they 
like  you  all  the  time,  sir,"  Frank  assured  him. 

"  Well,  like  me  or  not,"  said  the  veteran,  his  smile 
softening  as  he  looked  down  at  the  boy's  face  upturned 
so  earnestly  to  his  in  the  fire-light,  "I  have  deter- 
mined, if  only  for  your  sake,  to  share  the  fortunes  of 
the  regiment." 

"You  have?  O,  good!  And  go  with  us?"  cried 
Frank,  ready  to  dance  for  joy. 

"I've  got  tired,  like  the  rest  of  you,  of  this  dull 
camp  life,"  said  the  old  drummer;  "and  seeing  you 
pack  your  knapsack  has  stirred  a  little  youthful  blood 
in  my  veins  which  I  didn't  suppose  was  there.  I'm 
off  for  the  war  with  the  rest  of  you,  my  boy;"  and 
he  poked  a  coal  from  the  fire  to  light  his  cigar,  hiding 
his  face  from  Frank  at  the  same  time. 

Frank,  who  could  not  help  thinking  that  it  was 
partly  for  his  sake  that  the  old  man  had  come  to  this 
decision,  was  both  rejoiced  and  sobered  by  this  evi- 


64  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

dence  of  friendship  in  one  wlio  pretended  not  to  bo- 
lieve  there  was  such  a  thing  as  true  friendship  in  the 
world. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  going ;  but  I  am  afraid 
you   are   too    old;  and   if  any   thing   should   happen 

to  you "    Frank  somehow  felt  that,  in  that  case, 

he  would  be  to  blame. 

The  old  man  said  nothing,  but  kept  poking  at  the 
coal  with  a  trembling  hand. 

"  Here,  Old  Sinjin,"  said  Jack  Winch,  "  have  a  match. 
Don't  be  singing  your  mustaches  over  the  fire  for 
nothing;"  with  an  irreverent  pun  on  the  old  man's 
name. 

"  Mr.  Sinjin  is  going  with  us,  Jack,"  said  Frank. 

"  Is  he  ?  Bully  for  you,  old  chap ! "  said  Jack,  as  the 
veteran,  with  a  somewhat  contemj^tuous  smile,  ac- 
cepted the  proffered  match,  and  smoked  away  in  silence. 
"We  are  going  to  have  a  gallus  old  time;  nothing 
could  hire  me  to  stay  at  home."  For  Jack,  when  in- 
spired by  the  idea  of  change,  was  always  enthusias- 
tic; he  was  then  always  going  to  have  a  gallus  old 
time,  if  any  body  knows  what  that  is.  "  Here  goes 
my  shoes,"  pitching  those  which  he  had  worn  from 
home  into  the  fire. 

"  Why,  Jack,"  said  Frank,  "  what  do  you  burn  them 
for?     Those  were  good  shoes  yet." 

"  T  know  it.     But  I  couldn't  carry  them.     The  othei 


BREAKING    CAMP.  65 

boys  are  burning  up  all  their  old   boots   and  shoes 
Uncle  Sam  furnishes  us  shoes  now." 

"But  you  should  have  sent  them  home,  Jack; 
I  sent  mine  along  with  my  clothes.  If  you  don't 
ever  want  them  again  yourself,  somebody  else  may." 

"What  do  I  care  for  somebody  else  ?  I  care  more 
for  seeing  the  old  things  curl  and  fry  in  the  fire,  as  if 
they  was  mad.  O,  ain't  that  a  splendid  blaze !  It's 
light  as  day  all  over  the  camp.  By  jimmy,  the  fel- 
lows there  are  going  to  have  a  dance." 

John  ran  ofi".  Old  Sinjin  had  also  taken  his  do 
parture,  evidently  not  liking  young  Winch's  company 
Frank  was  left  once  more  to  his  own  thoughts,  watch  • 
ing  the  picturesque  groups  about  the  fires.  It  was  now 
midnight.  The  last  of  the  old  straw  from  the  emptied" 
ticks  had  been  cast  into  the  flames,  and  the  broken 
tent-floors  were  burning  briUiantly.  Some  of  the 
wiser  ones  were  bent  on  getting  a  little  sleep.  Frank 
saw  Atwater  spreading  his  rubber  blanket  on  the 
ground,  and  resolved  to  fallow  his  example.  Others 
did  the  same;  and  with  their  woollen  blankets  over 
them,  thou*  knapsacks  under  their  heads,  and  their 
feet  to  the  fire,  they  bivouacked  merrily  under  the 
lurid  sky. 

It  was  Frank's  first  experience  of  a  night  in  the 
open  air.     The  weather  was  mild,  although  it  was  t-^w 
November;   the  fires  kept  them  warm;  and   but  foi 
5 


0(3  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

the  noises  made  by  the  wilder  sort  of  fellows  they 
would  have  slept  well  in  that  novel  fashion.  The 
drummer  boy  sank  several  times  into  a  light  slumber, 
but  as  often  started  up,  to  hear  the  singing  and  laugh- 
ter, and  to  see  Atwater  sleeping  all  the  while  calmly 
at  his  side,  the  wakeful  ones  making  sjjort  and  keeping 
up  the  fires,  and  the  flames  glittering  dimly  on  the 
slacks  of  arms.  The  last  time  he  awoke  it  was  day; 
and  the  short-Uved  camp-fires  were  paling  their  sad 
ra^s  before  the  eternal  glory  of  the  sunrise. 

The  veteran  Sinjin  beat  the  drummers'  call.  Frank 
seized  his  drum  and  hurried  to  join  his  friend,  —  beat- 
ing with  him  the  last  reveille  which  was  to  rouse  up 
the  regiment  in  the  Old  Bay  State. 

After  roll-call,  breakfast ;  then  the  troops  were 
drawn  up  under  arms,  prej^aratory  to  their  departure. 
A  long  train  of  a  dozen  cars  was  at  the  depot,  in 
readiness  to  receive  the  regiment,  which  now  marched 
out  of  the  old  camping-ground  to  the  gay  music  of  a 
band  from  a  neighboring  city. 

After  waiting  an  hour  on  the  train,  they  heard  the 
welcome  whistle  of  the  engine,  and  the  still  more  wel- 
come clang  of  the  starting  cars,  and  ofi*  they  went 
amid  loud  cheers  and  silent  tears. 

Frank  had  no  relatives  or  near  friends  in  the  crowd 
left  behind,  as  many  of  his  comrades  had,  but  his  heart 
beat  fast  with  the  thought  that  there  Avere  loved  ones 
whom  he  should  meet  soon. 


BREAKING    CAMP.  67 

But  the  regiment  reached  Boston,  and  marched 
through  the  streets,  and  paraded  on  the  Common; 
and  all  the  while  his  longing  eyes  looked  in  vain  for 
his  friends,  who  never  appeared.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  nearly  every  other  fellow  in  his  company  saw 
friends  either  on  the  march  or  at  the  halt,  while  he 
alone  was  left  unnoticed  and  uncomforted.  And  so 
liis  anticipated  hour  of  enjoyment  was  changed  to  one 
of  bitterness. 

Why  was  it  ?  His  last  letter  must  have  had  time 
to  reach  his  family.  Besides,  they  might  have  seen 
by  the  newspapers  that  the  regiment  was  -coming. 
Why  then  did  they  fail  to  meet  him  ?  His  heart 
swelled  with  grief  as  he  thought  of  it,  —  he  was  there, 
so  near  home,  for  perhaps  the  last  time,  and  nobody 
that  he  loved  was  with  him  during  those  precious, 
wasting  moments. 

But,  suddenly,  as  he  was  casting  his  eyes  for  the 
twentieth  time  along  the  lines  of  spectators,  searching 
for  some  familiar  face,  he  heard  a  voice  —  not  father's, 
or  mother's,  or  sister's,  but  one  scarcely  less  dear  than 
the  dearest. 

"My  bwother  Fwank !  me  -^  int  my  bwother  Fwank ! " 

And  turning,  he  saw  little  Willie  running  towards 
]iim,  almost  between  the  legs  of  the  policemen  sta- 
tioned to  keep  back  the  crowd. 


vn. 

THROUGH  BOSTON. 

If  ever  "bwother  Fwank  "  felt  a  thrill  of  joy,  it  was 
then.  WilHe  ran  straight  to  his  arms,  in  spite  of  the 
long-legged  officer  striding  to  catch  him,  and  pulling 
down  his  neck,  hugged  him,  and  kissed  him,  and 
hugged  and  kissed  him  again,  with  such  ardor  that  the 
delighted  bystanders  cheered,  and  the  pursuing  police 
man  stepped  back  with  a  laugh  of  melting  human 
kindness. 

"He's  too  much  for  me,  that  little  midgit  is,"  he 
said,  returning  to  his  place.  "  Does  he  belong  to  you, 
ma'am  ^"  addressing  a  lady  whose  humid  eyes  be- 
trayed something  more  than  a  stranger's  interest  in 
the  scene. 

"  They  are  my  children,"  said  the  lady.  "  Will  you 
be  so  good,  sir,  as  to  tell  the  drummer  boy  to  step  this 
way?" 

But  already  Frank  was  coming.  How  thankful  he 
then  felt  that  he  was  not  a  private,  confined  to  the 
ranks !     In  a  minute  his  mother's  arm  was  about  him, 

(68) 


THROUOfI    BOSTON.  69 

and  her  kiss  was  on  his  cheek,  and  Helen  was  squeez- 
ing one  hand,  and  his  father  the  other,  while  Willie 
was  playing  with  his  drumsticks. 

"I  am  all  the  more  glad,"  he  said,  his  face 
shining  with  gratitude  and  pleasure,  "because  I 
was  just  giving  you  up  —  thinking  you  wouldn't 
come   at   all." 

"  Only  think,"  said  Helen,  "  because  you  wrote  on 
your  letter,  In  haste^  the  postmaster  gave  it  to  Maggie 
Simpson  yesterday  to  deliver,  for  she  was  going  right 
by  our  house  ;  but  Dan  Alford  came  along  and  asked 
her  to  ride,  and  she  forgot  all  about  the  letter,  and 
would  never  have  thought  of  it  again,  I  suppose,  if  I 
hadn't  seen  the  postmaster  and  set  off  on  the  track  of 
it  this  morning.  She  had  gone  over  to  her  aunt's,  and 
I  had  to  follow  her  there ;  and  then  she  had  to  go 
home  again,  to  g5t  the  letter  out  of  her  other  dress 
pocket ;  but  her  sister  Jane  had  by  this  time  got  on 
the  dress,  in  place  of  her  own,  which  was  being 
washed,  and  worn  it  to  school ;  and  so  we  had  to 
go  on  a  wild-goose  chase  after  Jane." 

"Well,  I  hope  you  had  trouble  enough  for  one  let- 
ter ! "  said  Frank. 

"  But  you  haven't  heard  all  yet,"  said  Helen,  laugh- 
ing, "  for  when  we  found  Jane,  she  had  not  the  letter ; 
she  had  taken  it  out  of  the  pocket,  when  she  put  the 
dross  on,  and  left  it  on  the  bureau  at  home.     So  off 


70 


THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 


again  we  started,  Maggie  and  I,  but  before  we  got  to 
her  house,  the  letter  had  gone  again  —  her  mother  had 
found  it  in  the  mean  time,  and  sent  it  to  us  by  the 
butcher  boy.  Well,  I  ran  home,  but  no  butcher  boy 
had  made  his  appearance ;  and,  do  you  think,  when  I 
got  to  the  meat  shop,  I  found  him  deliberately  sawing 
off  a  bone  for  his  dog,  with  your  letter  in  his  greasy 
pocket." 

"  He  had  forgotten  it  too  !  "  said  Frank. 

"  Not  he !  but  he  didn't  think  it  of  very  much 
importance,  and  he  intended  to  bring  it  to  us  some 
time  during  the  day  —  after  he  had  fed  his  dog  !  -By 
this  time  father  had  got  news  that  the  regiment  was  in 
town ;  and  such  a  rush  as  we  made  for  the  horse-cars 
you  never  did  see  !  " 

"  But  Hattie !  where  is  she  ?  "  Frank  asked,  anx- 
iously. 

Helen's  vivacious  face  saddened  a  little. 

"  O,  we  came  away  in  such  a  hurry  we  couldn't 
bring  her,  even  if  she  had  been  well   enough." 

"  Is  she  worse  ?  " 

"  She  gets  no  better,"  said  Mrs.  Manly,  "  and  she 
herself  thought  she  ought  not  to  try  to  come,  Maggi* 
Simpson  offered  to  stay  with  her." 

"  I  am  so  sorry !  I  wanted  to  see  her.  Did  she 
Bend  any  message  to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  his  mother.     "  She  said,  *  Give  my  love 


THROUGH    BOSTON.  71 

to  dear  brother,  and  tell  him  to  think  of  me  some* 
times.'" 

"  Think  of  her  sometimes  !  "  said  Frank.  "  Tell 
her  I  shall  always  think  of  her  and  love  her." 

By  this  time  Captain  Edney,  seeing  Frank  with  his 
friends,  came  towards  them.  Frank  hastened  to  hide 
his  emotion  ;  and,  saluting  the  officer  respectfully,  said 
to  him,  with  a  glow  of  pleasure  :  — 

"  Captain  Edney,  this  is  my  mother." 

Captain  Edney  Ufled  his  cap,  with  a  bright  smile. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  this  is  a  meeting  I  rather  think 
neither  of  us  ever  looked  forward  to,  when  we  used  to 
spend  those  long  summer  days  in  the  old  school-house, 
which  I  hope  you  remember." 

"  I  remember  it  well  —  and  one  bright-faced  boy  in 
particular,"  said  Mrs.  Manly,  pressing  his  hand  cor- 
dially. 

"A  rather  mischievous  boy,  I  am  afraid  I  was ;  a 
little  rebel  myself,  in  those  days,"  said  the  captain. 

"Yet  a  boy  that  I  always  hoped  much  good 
of,"  said  Mrs.  Manly.  "I  cannot  tell  you  how 
gi-atified  I  am  to  feel  that  my  son  is  entrusted  in 
your  hands." 

"  You  may  be  sure  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  him," 
said  the  captain,  "if  only  to  repay  your  early  care 
of  me." 

He  then  conversed  a  few  moments-  with  Mr.  Manly, 


72  THE    DRUilirEK    HOY. 

who  was  always  well  satisfied  to  stand  a  little  in  the 
DackgTOund,  and  let  his  wife  have  her  say  first. 

"  And  this,  I  suppose,  is  Frank's  sister,"  turning 
to  Helen.  "  I  should  have  known  her,  I  think,  for  she 
looks  so  much  as  you  used  to,  Mrs.  Manly,  that  I  can 
almost  fancy  myself  stepping  up  to  her  with  my  slate, 
and  saving,  'Please,  ma'am,  snow  me  about  this 
sum  ? '" 

Frank,  in  the  mean  time,  was  occupied  in  exhibiting 
to  Willie  his  drum,  and  in  preventing  him,  partly  by 
moral  suasion,  but  chiefly  by  main  force,  from  gi*atify- 
ing  his  ardent  desire  to  pound  upon  it. 

"And  here  is  our  little  brother,"  said  the  captain, 
lifting  Willie,  notwithstanding  his  struggles  and  kicks, 
and  kissing  his  shy,  pouting  cheeks.  "  He'll  make  a 
nice  drummer  boy  too,  one  of  these  days." 

This  royal  flattery  won  the  child  over  to  his  now 
friend   immediately. 

"  Me  go  to  war  with  my  bwother  Fwank !  dwum, 
and  scare  webels ! "  panting  earnestly  over  his  im- 
portant little  story,  which  the  captain  was  obliged  to 
c-ut  short. 

"  Well,  Frank,  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  spend 
tlie  rest  of  the  time  with  your  fiiends.  Be  at  the  Old 
Colony  depot  at  five  o'clock.  Meanwhile,"  —  touch- 
ing his  cap,  —  "a  pleasant  time  to  all  of  you." 

So  saying,  he  left  them,  and  Frank  departed  with 


THROUGH    BOSTON.  73 

his  friends,  caiTying  his  drum  with  him,  to  the  great 
delight  of  little  Willie,  whose  heart  would  have  been 
broken  if  all  hope  of  being  allowed  to  drum  upon  it 
had  been  cut  off  by  leaving  it  behind. 

"Mrs.  Gillett  has  invited  us  to  bring  you  to  her 
house,"  said  Mrs.  Manly.  "I  want  to  have  a  long  talk 
with  you  there ;  and  I  want  Mrs.  Gillett's  brother,  the 
minister,  to  see  you." . 

Frank  was  not  passionately  fond  of  ministers ;  and 
immediately  an  unpleasant  image  rose  in  his  mind,  of  . 
a  solemn,  black-coated  individual,  who  took  a  mourn- 
ful satisfaction  in  damping  the  spirits  of  young  people 
by  his  long  and  serious  conversations. 

"You  needn't  strut  so,  Frank,  if  you  ham  got  soldier 
clothes  on,"  laughed  Helen.  "I'll  tell  folks  you  are 
smart,  if  you  are  so  particular  to  have  them  know  it." 

"Do,  if  you  please,"  said  Frank.  "  And  I'll  tell  'em 
you're  handsome,  if  you'll  put  your  veil  down  so  they 
won't  know  but  that  I  am  telling  the  truth." 

"There,  Helen,"  said  Mrs.  Manly,  "you've  got  your 
joke  back  with  interest.  Now  I'd  hold  my  tongue,  if 
I  was  you." 

"Frank  and  I  wouldn't  know  each  other  if  we 
didn't  have  a  little  fun  together,"  said  Helen.  "  Be- 
sides, we'll  all  feel  serious  enough  by  and  by,  I  guess." 
For  she  loved  her  brother  devotedly,  much  as  she  de- 
lighted to  tease  him ;  and  she  would  have  been  glad  to 


74  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

drown  in  merry  jests  the  thought  of  the  final  partings 
which  was  now  so  near  at  hand. 

They  were  cordially  received  at  Mrs.  Gillett's  house; 
and  there  Mrs.  Manly  enjoyed  the  wished-for  opjjortu- 
nity  of  talking  with  her  son,  and  Willie  had  a  chance 
to  beat  the  drum  in  the  attic,  and  Mrs.  Gillett  secretly 
emptied  Frank's  haversack  of  its  rations  of  pork  and 
hard  tack,  and  filled  it  again  with  excellent  bread  and 
butter,  slices  of  cold  lamb,  and  sponge  cake.  More- 
over, a  delightful  repast  was  prepared  for  the  visitors, 
at  which  Frank  laughed  at  his  own  awkwardness,  de- 
claring that  he  had  eaten  from  a  tin  plate  so  long,  with 
his  drumhead  for  a  table,  that  he  had  almost  forgotten 
the  use  of  china  and  napkins. 

"If  Hattie  was  only  here  now!  "  he  said,  again  and 
again.  For  it  needed  only  his  invalid  sister's  presence, 
during  these  few  hours,  to  make  him  perfectly  happy. 

"Eat  generously,"  said  the  minister,  "for  it  may  be 
long  before  you  sit  at  a  table  again." 

"Perhaps  I  never  shall,"  thought  Frank,  but  he  did 
not  say  so  lest  he  might  hurt  his  mothers  feelinf:!;s. 

The  minister  was  not  at  all  such  a  person  as  he  had 
expected  to  see,  but  only  a  very  pleasant  gentleman, 
not  at  all  stiffened  with  the  idea  that  he  had  the  dig- 
nity of  a  profession  to  sustain.  He  was  natural,  friend- 
ly, and  quite  free  from  that  solemn  affectation  which 
now  and  then   becomes    second    nature   in    ministers 


THROUGH    BOSTOX.  75 

some  of  us  know,  but  which  never  fails  to  repel  the 
sympathies  of  the  young. 

Mr.  Egglestone  was  expecting  soon  to  go  out  on  a 
mission  to  the  troops,  and  it  ^  as  foi'  this  reason  Mrs. 
Manly  wished  them  to  become  acquainted. 

"I  wish  you  were  going  with  our  regiment,"  said 
Frank.  "We  have  got  a  chaplain,  I  believe,  but  I  have 
never  seen  him  yet,  or  seen  any  body  who  has  seen 
him." 

"Well,  I  hope  at  least  I  shall  meet  you,  if  we  both 
reach  the  seat  of  war,"  said  the  minister,  dramng  him 
aside.  "  But  whether  I  do  or  not,  I  am  sure  that,  with 
such  a  good  mother  as  you  have,  and  such  dear  sisters 
as  you  leave  behind,  you  will  never  need  a  chaplain  to 
remind  you  that  you  have  something  to  preserve  more 
precious  than  this  mortal  life  of  ours,  —  the  purity  and 
rectitude  of  your  heart." 

This  was  spoken  so  sincerely  and  affectionately  that 
Frank  felt  those  few  words  sink  deeper  into  his  soul 
than  the  most  labored  sermon  could  have  done.  Mr. 
Egglestone  said  no  more,  but  putting  his  arm  confid- 
higly  over  the  boy's  shoulder,  led  him  back  to  his 
mother. 

And  now  the  hour  of  parting  had  come.  Frank's 
friends,  including  the  minister,  went  with  him  to  the 
cars.  Arrived  at  the  depot,  they  found  it  thronged 
with  soldiers,  and  sm-rounded  by  crowds  of  citizens. 


76  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"O,  mother  !  "  said  Frank,  "you  micst  see  rur  drum- 
major,  old  Mr.  Sinjin  — my  teacher,  you  know.  There 
he  is ;  I'll  run  and  fetch  him! " 

He  returned  immediately,  dragging  after  him  the 
grizzled  veteran,  who  seemed  reluctant,  and  looked 
unusually  stern. 

"  It's  my  mother  and  father,  you  know,"  said  Frank. 
"  They  want  to  shake  hands  with  you." 

"What  do  they  care  for  me?"  said  the  old  man, 
frowning. 

Frank  persisted,  and  introduced  his  father.  The 
veteran  returned  Mr.  Manly's  salute  with  rigid  mili- 
tary courtesy,  without  relaxing  a  muscle  of  his  austere 
countenance. 

"  And  this  is  my  mother,"  said  Frank. 

With  still  more  formal  and  lofty  politeness,  the  old 
man  bent  his  martial  figure,  and  quite  raised  his  cap 
from  his  old  gi'ay  head. 

"  Madam,  your  very  humble  servant !  " 

"  Mr.  St.  John ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Manly,  in  aston- 
ishment. "  Is  it  possible  that  this  is  my  old  fiiend  St. 
John?" 

"Madam,"  said  the  veteran,  with  difficulty  keeping 
up  his  cold,  formal  exterior,  "  I  hardly  exj^ected  you 
would  do  me  the  honor  to  remember  one  so  unwor- 
thy ; "  bending  lower  than  before,  and  raising  his  hat 


THROUGH    BOSTON.  77 

again,  while  Ms  lips  twitched  nervously  under  his  thick 
mustache. 

"  Why,  where  did  you  ever  see  him,  mother  ?  "  cried 
Frank;  with  eager  interest. 

"  Mr.  St.  John  was  an  old  friend  of  your  grandfather's, 
Fi-aiik.  Surely,  sir,  you  have  not  forgotten  the  little 
girl  you  used  to  take  on  your  knee  and  feed  with 
candy  ?  " —  for  the  old  man  was  still  looldng  severe  and 
distant. 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  many  j^leasant  things  —  and 
some  not  so  pleasant,  which  I  would  have  forgotten  by 
every  body."  And  the  old  drummer  gave  his  mus- 
tache a  vindictive  pull. 

"Be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Manly,  "I  remember  nothing  of 
you  that  was  not  kind  and  honorable.  I  think  you 
must  have  known  who  my  son  was,  you  have  been  so 
good  to  him.  But  why  did  you  not  inform  him,  or  me 
through  him,  who  you  were  ?  I  would  have  been  so 
glad  to  know  about  you." 

"I  hardly  imagined  that."  —  The  old  cynical  smile 
curled  the  heavy  mustache.  —  "And  if  I  could  be  of 
any  service  to  your  son,  it  was  needless  for  you  to 
know  of  it.  I  was  Mr.  St.  John  when  you  knew  me ; 
but  I  am  nobody  but  Old  Sinjin  now.  Madam,  I 
wish  you  a  very  good-day,  and  much  happiness. 
Your  servant,  sir ! " 

And   shaking  hands  stiffly,  first  with  Mrs.  Manly, 


78  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

then  with  her  husband,  the  strange  old  man  stalked 
away. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  what  is  it  about  him  ?  "  asked  Frank, 
stung  with  curiosity.  "  Never  did  I  think  you  knew 
Old  Sinjiiir 

"  Your  father  knows  about  him,  and  I  will  tell  you 
some  time,"  said  Mrs.  Manly,  her  eyes  following  the 
retreating  figure  with  looks  of  deep  compassion.  "  In 
the  mean  time,  be  very  kind  to  him,  very  gentle  and 
respectful,  my  son." 

"I  will,"  said  Frank,  "but  it  is  all  so  strange!  I 
ean't  understand  it." 

"  Well,  never  mind  now.  Here  is  Captain  Edney 
talking  with  Helen  and  Mr.  Egglestone,  and  Willie 
is  playing  with  his  scabbard.  Pretty  well  ac- 
quainted this  young  gentleman  is  getting ! "  said 
Mrs.  Manly,  hastening  to  take  the  child  away  from 
the  sword. 

"  Pitty  thord  !  pitty  man  !  "  lisped  Willie,  who  had 
fallen  violently  in  love  with  the  captain  and  his  accou- 
trements. "  Me  and  Helen,  we  like  pitty  man  !  We 
go  with  pitty  man  !  " 

Helen  blushed ;  while  the  captain,  laughing,  took  a 
piece  of  money  from  his  pocket  and  gave  it  to  Willie 
for  the  compliment. 

Frank,  who  had  been  absent  a  moment,  now  joined 
the  group,  evidently  much  pleased  at  something 


THROUGH    BOSTON.  79 

"  The  funniest  thing  has  happened  1  A  fellow  in 
our  company,  —  and  one  of  the  best  fellows  he  is  too  ! 
but  I  can't  help  laughing !  —  he  met  his  girl  to-day, 
and  they  suddenly  took  it  into  their  heads  to  get  mar- 
ried ;  so  they  sent  two  of  their  Mends  to  get  their 
licenses  for  them,  one,  one  way,  and  the  other  another 
way,  for  they  live  in  different  places.  And  the  fel- 
low's license  has  come,  and  the  girl's  hasn't,  and  they 
wouldn't  have  time  to  go  to  a  minister's  now  if  it  had. 
It  is  too  bad !  but  isn't  it  funny  ?  The  fellow  is  one 
of  my  very  best  friends.  I  wrote  to  you  about  him ; 
Abe  Atwater.     There  he  is,  with  his  girl ! " 

And  Frank  pointed  out  the  tall  young  soldier, 
standing  stately  and  taciturn,  but  with  a  strong  emo- 
tion in  that  usually  mild,  grave  face  of  his,  perceptible 
enough  to  those  who  knew  him.  His  giii  was  at  his 
side,  crying. 

"  How  I  pity  her  !  "  said  Helen.  "  But  he  takes  it 
coolly  enough,  I  should  think." 

"  He  takes  every  thing  that  way,"  said  Frank ;  "  but 
you  can't  tell  much  by  his  face  how  he  feels,  though  I 
can  see  he  is  biting  hard  to  keep  his  heart  down  now, 
straight  as  he  stands." 

"  I'll  speak  to  her,"  said  Helen  ;  and  while  Frank 
accosted  Atwater,  she  made  acquaintance  with  the 
girl. 

^  Yes,"  said  the  soldier,  "it  would  be  better  to  know 


80  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

I  was  leaving  a  wife  behind,  to  think  of  me  and  look 
for  my  coming  back.  But  I  never  knew  she  cared  so 
much  for  me  ;  and  now  it's  too  late." 

"  To  think,"  said  the  girl  to  Helen,  "  he  has  loved 
me  all  along,  but  never  told  me,  because  he  thought  I 
wouldn't  have  him !  And  now  he  is  going,  and  may 
be  I  shall  never  see  him  again !  And  we  want  to  be 
married,  and  my  license  hasn't  come ! "  And  she 
poured  out  her  sorrows  into  the  bosom  of  the  sym- 
pathizing Helen,  with  whom  suffering  and  sympathy 
made  her  at  once  acquainted. 

Just  then  the  signal  sounded  for  the  train  to  be  in 
readiness  to  start.  And  there  were  hurried  partings, 
and  tears  in  many  a  soldier's  eye.  And  Frank's 
mother  breathed  into  his  ear  her  good-by  counsel  and 
blessing.  And  Atwater  was  bidding  his  girl  farewell, 
when  a  man  came  bounding  along  the  platform  with  a 
paper  in  his  hand  —  the  marriage  license. 

"  Too  late  now ! "  said  Atwater,  with  a  glistening 
smile.     "We  are  off!" 

"  But  here  is  a  minister  !  "  cried  Helen,  —  "  Mr. 
Egglestone  !  —  O,  Captain  Edney !  have  the  train 
wait  until  this  couple  can  be  married.  It  won't 
take   a   minute  !  " 

The  case  of  the  lovers  was  by  this  time  well  under- 
stood, not  only  by  Captain  Edney  and  Mr.  Eggle- 
stone, but   also   by  the   conductor   of  the   tiain   and 


THROUGH    BOSTON-.  81 

scores  of  soldiers  and  citizens.  An  interested  throng 
crowded  to  witness  the  ceremony.  The  licenses  were 
m  the  hands  of  the  minister,  and  with  his  musket  at 
order  arms  by  his  right  side,  and  his  girl  at  his  left, 
Atwater  stood  up  to  be  married,  as  erect  and  attentive 
as  if  he  had  been  going  through  the  company  drill. 
And  in  a  few  words  Mr.  Egglestone  married  them; 
Frank  holding  Atwater's  musket  while  he  joined 
hands  with  his  bride. 

In  the  midst  of  the  laughter  and  applause  which  fol- 
lowed, the  soldier,  with  unchanging  features,  fumbled 
in  his  pocket  for  the  marriage  fee.  He  .gave  it  to  Mr. 
Egglestone,  who  pohtely  handed  it  to  the  bride.  But 
she  returned  it  to  her  husband. 

"  You  will  need  it  more  than  I  shall,  Abram  !  "  — ■ 
forcing  it,  in  spite  of  him,  back  into  his  pocket. 
"  Good-by !  "  she  sobbed,  kissing  him.  "  Good-by, 
my   husband ! " 

This  pleasing  incident  had  served  to  lighten  t?ie 
pain  of  Frank's  parting  with  his  friends.  When  sor- 
rowful farewells  are  to  be  said,  no  matter  how  quickly 
they  are  over.  And  they  were  over  now  ;  and  Frank 
was  on  the  departing  train,  waving  his  cap  for  the  last 
time  to  the  friends  he  could  not  see  for  the  tears  that 
dimmed  his  eyes. 

And  the  cars  rolled  slowly  away,  amid  cheers  which 
drowned  the  sound  of  weeping.     And  the  bride  who 


82  THE    DRCJMMER    BOY. 

had  had  her  husband  for  a  moment  only,  and  lost  him, 
—  perhaps  forever,  —  and.  the  mother  who  had  given 
her  son  to  her  country,  —  perhaps  never  to  receive 
hhn  back,  —  and  other  wives,  and  mothers,  and  fa- 
thers, and  sisters,  were  left  behind,  with  all  the  untold 
pangs  of  grief  and  anxious  love  in  their  hearts,  gazing 
after  the  long  swift  train  that  bore  their  loved  ones 
away  to  the  war. 


VIII. 

ANNAPOLIS. 

And  the  tram  sped  on ;  and  the  i.aylight  faded  fast ; 
and  darkness  shut  down  upon  fLe  world.  And  still 
the  train  sped  on. 

When  it  was  too  dark  to  see  any  thing  out  of  the 
car  windows,  and  Frank  was  tired  of  the  loud  talking 
around  him,  he  thought  he  would  amuse  himself  by 
nibbhng  a  little  "  hard  tack."  So  he  opened  his  hav- 
ersack, and  discovered  the  cake,  and  bread  and  butter, 
and  cold  lamb,  with  which  some  one  who  loved  him 
had  stored  it.  He  was  so  moved  by  this-  evidence  of 
thoughtful  kindness  that  it  was  some  time  before  he 
could  make  up  his  mind  to  break  in  upon  the  httle 
stock  of  provisions,  which  there  was  really  more  satis- 
faction in  contemplating  than  in  eating  any  ordinary 
supper.  But  the  sight  of  some  of  his  comrades  resort- 
ing for  solace  to  their  rations  decided  him,  and  he 
shared  with  them  the   contents  of  his   haversack. 

Tlie  train  reached  Fall  River  at  nine  o'clock, 
and    the   passengers  were   transferred  to  the  steamer 

(83) 


84  THE    DEUMMER   BOY. 

"Metropolis."  The  boat  was  soon  swarming  with 
soldiers,  stacking  their  arms,  and  hurrying  this  way 
and  that  in  the  lamp-light.  Then  the  clanking  of  the 
engine,  the  trembling  of  the  steamer,  and  the  sound 
of  rushing  water,  announced  that  they  were  once  more 
in  motion. 

Frank  had  never  been  on  salt  water  before,  and  he 
was  sorry  this  was  in  the  night ;  but  he  was  destined 
before  long  to  have  experience  enough  of  the  sea,  both 
by  night  and  by  day. 

When  he  went  upon  deck  the  next  morning,  the 
steamer  was  cutting  her  way  gayly  through  the  waters 
of  New  York  harbor,  —  a  wonderful  scene  to  the  un- 
travelled  drummer  boy,  who  had  never  before  wit- 
nessed such  an  animated  picture  of  dancing  waters, 
ships  under  full  sail,  and  steamboats  trailing  long 
di-agon-tails  of  smoke  in  the  morning  air. 

Then  there  was  the  city,  with  its  forests  of  masts, 
its  spires  rising  dimly  in  the  soft,  smoky  atmosphere 
that  shrouded  it,  and  the  far,  faint  sound  of  its  bells 
musically  ringing. 

Then  came  the  excitement  of  landing;  the  troops 
forming,  and,  after  a  patriotic  recei^tion  by  the  "  Sons 
of  Massachusetts,"  marching  through  the  city  to  the 
barracks :  then  dinner ;  and  a  whole  afternoon  of 
sight-seeing  afterwards. 

The  next  day  the  regiment  was  off  again,  crossing 


ANNAPOLIS.  85 

I 

the  ferry,  and  taking  the  cars  for  PhiladeliDhia.  From 
Philadelphia  it  kept  on  into  the  night  again,  until  it 
reached  a  steamer,  in  waiting  to  receive  it,  on  Chesa- 
peake Bay. 

The  next  morning  was  rainy ;  and  the  rain  con- 
tinued all  day,  pouring  dismally ;  and  it  was  raining 
still  when,  at  midnight,  the  boat  arrived  at  Annapolis. 
In  the  darkness  and  storm  the  troops  landed,  and  took 
up  their  temporary  quarters  in  the  Naval  Academy. 
In  one  of  the  recitation  halls,  Frank  and  his  comrades 
spread  their  blankets  on  the  floor,  put  their  knapsacks 
under  their  heads,  and  slept  as  soundly  after  their 
wearisome  journey  as  they  ever  did  in  their  beds  at 
home.  Indeed,  they  seemed  to  fall  asleep  as  promptly 
as  if  by  word  of  command,  and  to  snore  by  platoons. 

The  next  morning  the  rain  was  over.  At  seven 
o'clock,  breakfast ;  after  which  the  regiment  was  re- 
viewed on  the  Academy  parade.  Then  Frank  and  a 
squad  of  jovial  companions  set  out  to  see  the  town,  — 
taking  care  to  have  with  them  an  intelligent  young 
corporal,  named  Gray,  who  had  been  there  before,  and 
knew  the  sights. 

"  Boys,"  said  young  Gray,  as  they  sallied  forth,  "  we 
are  now  in  Queen  Anne's  city,  —  for  that,  I  suppose 
you  know,  is  what  the  word  Annapolis  mears.  It  was 
the  busiest  city  in  Maryland,  once  ;  but,  by  degrees,  all 
its  trade  and  fashion  went  over  to  Baltimore,  and  left 


86  THE    DEUM:iIER   BOY. 

the  old  town  to  go  to  sleep,  —  though  it  has  woke  up 
and  rubbed  its  eyes  a  little  since  the  rebellion  broke 
out." 

"  When  was  you  here,  Gray  ?  "  asked  Jack  Winch. 

Gray  smiled  at  his  ignorance,  while  Frank  said,  — 

"  What !  didn't  you  know.  Jack,  he  w^as  here  with 
the  Eighth  Massachusetts,  last  April,  when  they 
saved  Washington  and  the  Union  ?  " 

"  The  Union  ain't  saved  yet !  "  said  Jack. 

"  But  we  saved  Washington ;  that's  every  where 
admitted,"  said  Gray,  proudly.  "  On  the  19th  of 
April  the  mob  attacked  the  Sixth  Massachusetts 
in  Baltimore,  took  possession  of  the  city,  and  de- 
stroyed the  communication  with  Washington.  You 
remember  that,  for  it  was  the  first  blood  shed  in  this 
war ;  and  April  19,  1861,  takes  its  place  with  April  19, 
1775,  when  the  first  blood  was  shed  at  Lexington,  in 
the  Revolution." 

"  Of  course  I  know  all  that !  "  said  Jack,  who  never 
liked  to  be  thought  ignorant  of  any  thing. 

"  Well,  there  was  the  government  at  Washington  in 
danger,  the  Eighth  Massachusetts  on  its  way  to 
save  it,  and  Baltimore  in  the  hands  of  the  rebels.  I 
tell  you,  every  man  of  us  was  furious  to  cut  our  way 
through,  and  avenge  the  murders  of  the  19th.  But 
General  Butler  hit  upon  a  wiser  plan,  and  instead 
of  keeping  on  to  Baltimore,  we  switched  off,  seized  a 


ANXAPOLIS.  .  87 

ferry-boat  on  the  Chesapeake,  just  as  she  was  about  to 
be  taken  by  the  secessionists,  ran  down  here  to  Annap- 
olis, saved  the  city,  saved  the  old  frigate  '  Constitu- 
tion,' and,  with  the  New  York  Seventh,  went  to  work 
to  open  a  new  route  to  Washington. 

"Our  boys  repaired  the  railroad  track,  which  the 
traitors  had  torn  up,  and  put  in  shape  again  the 
engine  they  had  disabled.  We  had  men  that  could 
do  any  thing ;  and  that  very  engine  was  one  they  had 
made,  —  for  the  South  never  did  its  own  engine- 
building,  but  sent  to  Massachusetts  to  have  it  done. 
Charley  Homans  knew  every  j  of nt  and  pin  in  that  old 
machine,  and  soon  had  her  running  over  the  road 
again." 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Washington  ?  "  asked  Frank. 

"  About  forty  miles  ;  but  then  we  thought  it  a  hun- 
dred, we  were  so  impatient  to  get  there  !  What  a 
march  we  had  !  all  day  and  all  night,  the  engine  help- 
ing us  a  little,  and  we  helping  the  engine  by  hunting 
up  and  replacing  now  and  then-  a  stray  rail  which  the 
traitors  had  torn  from  the  track.  A  good  many  got 
used  up,  and  Charley  Homans  took  'em  aboard  the 
train.  It  was  on  that  march  I  fell  in  with  one  of  the 
pleasantest  fellows  I  ever  saw ;  always  full  of  wit  and 
good-humor,  with  a  cheery  word  for  every  body.  He 
belonged  to  the  New  York  Seventh.  He  told  me 
his  name  was  Winthrop.     But  I   did  not  know  till 


88  THE    DKUMMER   BOY. 

afterwards  that  he  was  Theodore  Winthrop,  the 
author;  afterwards  Major  Winthrop,  who  fell  last 
June  —  only  two  months  after  —  at  Big  Bethel." 

"  It  was  a  North  Carolina  drummer  boy  that  shot 
him,"  said  Frank.  "  Winthrop  was  heading  the  at- 
tack on  the  battery ;  he  jumped  upon  a  log,  and  was 
calling  to  the  men,  '  Come  on ! '  when  the  drummer 
boy  took  a  gun,  aimed  deliberately,  and  shot  him  dead." 

"  I  wouldn't  want  to  be  killed  by  a  miserable  drum- 
mer boy ! "  said  Jack  Winch,  envious  because  Frank 
remembered  the  incident. 

"  A  drummer  boy  niay  be  as  brave  as  any  body," 
said  Frank,  keeping  his  temper.  "But  I  wouldn't 
want  to  be  even  the  bravest  drummer  boy,  in  a  bad 
cause. 

"  And  as  for  being  shot,"  said  Gray,  "  I  think  Jack 
wouldn't  willingly  place  himself  where  there  was  much 
danger  of  being  killed  by  any  body." 

"  You'll  see  !  you'll  see  ! "  said  Jack,  testily.  "  Just 
wait  till  the  time  comes." 

"  What  water  is  this  the  town  fronts  on  ?  "  asked 
Frank. 

"  The  Chesapeake,  of  course !  Who  don't  know 
that?"   said  Jack,   contemptuously. 

"  Only  it  ain't ! "  said  Gray,  with  a  quiet  laugh. 
"  This  is  the  River  Severn.  The  Chesapeake  is  some 
two  miles  below." 


ANNAPOLIS.  89 

"There,  Jack,"  said  Ned  Ellis,  "I'd  give  up  now. 
You  don't  know  ^uite  so  much  as  you  thought  you 
did." 

"  What  a  queer  old  town  it  is,"  said  Frank,  gener- 
ously wishing  to  draw  attention  from  Jack's  mortifica- 
tion. "  It  isn't  a  bit  like  Boston.  It  don't  begin  to 
be  as  smart  a  place." 

"  Of  course  not !  "  said  Jack,  more  eager  than  ever 
DOW  to  appear  knowing.  "  And  why  should  it  be  ? 
Boston  is  the  capital  of  Massachusetts ;  and  if  Annap- 
olis was  only  the  capital  of  this  state,  it  would  be 
smart  enough." 

"  What  is  the  capital  of  this  state  ? "  asked  Gray, 
winking  slyly  at  Frank. 

"  Baltimore !  I  thought  every  body  knew  that," 
said  Jack,  with  an  air  of  importance. 

This  ludicrous  blunder  raised  a  great  laugh. 

"  O  Jack !  O  Jack  Winch  !  where  did  you  go  to 
school  ?  "  said  Joe  Hams,  "  not  to  know  that  Fred- 
erick is  the  capital  of  Maryland." 

"So  it  is!  I  had  forgotten,"  said  Jack.  "Of 
course  I  knew  Frederick  was  the  capital,  if  I  had 
only   thought." 

At  this  the  boys  laughed  louder  than  ever,  and 
Jack  flew  into  a.  passion. 

"Harris     was    fooling     you,"     whispered     Frank. 


90  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  Annapolis  is  the  capital.  Gray  is  taking  as  now  to 
see  the  State  House." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  Winch  suddenly  burst  forth.  "  Did 
you  think  I  didn't  know  ?  Annapolis  is  the  capital ; 
and  there's  the  State  House." 

"  Is  it  possible  ? "  said  Gray.  "  The  rebels  must 
have  changed  it  then,  for  that  was  St.  John's  College 
when  I  was  here  before." 

The  boys  shouted  with  merriment ;  all  except  Jack, 
who  was  angry.  He  had  been  as  fickle  at  his  studies, 
when  at  school,  as  he  had  always  been  at  every  thing 
else ;  never  sticking  long  to  any  of  them,  but  forever 
beginning  something  new ;  until,  at  last,  ignorant  of 
all,  he  gave  up,  declaring  that  he  had  knowledge 
enough  to  get  through  the  world  with,  and  that  he 
wasn't  going  to  bother  his  brain  with  books  any 
longer.  It  added  now  to  his  chagrin  to  think  that 
he  had  not  education  enough  to  prevent  him  from 
appearing  ridiculous  among  his  mates,  and  that  the 
golden  opportunity  of  acquiring  useful  information  in 
his  youth  was  lost  forever. 

Meanwhile  Frank's  reflections  were  very  different. 
Gray's  reminiscences  of  AjDril  had  strongly  impressed 
VL^on  his  mind  the  fact. that  he  was  now  on  the  verge 
of  his  country's  battle-fields ;  that  this  was  the  first 
soil  that  had  been  wrested  from  the  grasp  of  treason, 
a/id  saved  for  the  Union,  —  that  the  ground  he  stood 


ANNAPOLIS.  91 

upon  was  already  historic.  And  now  the  sight  of 
some  negroes  reminded  him  that  he  was  for  the  first 
time  in  his  hfe  in  a  slave  state. 

"  These  are  the  fellows  that  are  the  cause  of  this 
war,"   said   Gray,   indigating  the   blacks. 

"  Yes,"  said  Winch,  anxious  to  agree  with  him,  "  it's 
the  abolitionists  that  have  brought  the  trouble  on  the 
country.  They  insisted  on  interfering  with  the  rights 
of  the  south,  and  so  the  south  rebelled." 

"  We  never  interfered  with  slavery  in  the  states 
where  it  belonged,"  said  Frank,  warmly.  "  The  north 
opposed  the  extension  of  slavery  over  new  territory, 
and  took*  the  power  of  the  government  out  of  the 
hands  of  the  slaveholders,  who  had  used  it  for  their 
own  purposes  so  long ;  and  that  is  what  made  them 
rebel." 

"  Well,  the  north  is  partly  to  blame,"  insisted  Jack, 
thinking  he  had  Gray  on  his  side. 

"Yes;  to  blame  for  letting  the  slaveholders  iiave 
their  own  way  so  long,"  said  Frank.  "  And  just  as 
much  to  blame  for  this  rebellion,  as  my  father  would 
be  for  my  conduct,  if  he  should  attempt  to  enforce 
discipline  at  home,  and  I  should  get  mad  at  it  and  set 
the  house  on  fire." 

"A  good  comparison,"  said  Gray.  "Because  we 
were  going  to  restore  the  spirit  of  the  constitution, 
wkich  is  for  freedom,  and  always  was,  though  it  has 


92  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

been  obliged  to  tolerate  slavery,  the  slaveholders,  aa 
Frank  says,  got  mad  and  set  Uncle  Sam's  house 
afire." 

"He  had  heard  somebody  else  say  so,  or  he 
wouldn't   have   thought   of  it,"    said   Jack,   sullenly. 

"  No  matter  ;  it's  true ! "  said  Gray.  "  The  south  is 
fighting  for  slavery,  —  the  corner-stone  of  the  confed- 
eracy, as  the  rebel  vice-president  calls  it,  —  while  the 
north " 

"We  are  fighting  for  the  Constitution  and  the 
Union  !  "   said   Jack. 

"  That's  true,  too ;  for  the  constitution,  as  I  said, 
means  freedom ;  and  now  the  Union  means,  union 
without  slavery,  since  we  have  seen  that  union  ^vith 
slavery  is  impossible.  We  are  fighting  for  the  same 
thing  our  forefathers  fought  for  —  Liberty  !  " 

"  They  w  ^n  liberty  for  the  whites  only,"  said  Frank. 
"  Now  we  are  going  to  have  liberty  for  all  men." 

"  If  I  had  a  brother  that  was  a  slaveholder  and 
secessionist,  I  wouldn't  say  any  thing,"  sneered 
Jack. 

Frank  felt  cut  by  the  taunt ;  but  he  said,  gayly,  — 

"  I  won't  spoil  a  story  for  relation's  sake !  Come, 
boys,  politics  don't  suit  Jack,  so  let's  have  a  song ;  the 
one  you  co23ied  out  of  the  newspaper.  Gray.  It's  just 
the  thing  for  the  occasion." 

Frank's  voice  was  a  fine  treble ;  Gray's  a  mellow 


ANXAPOLTS.  ^3 

bass.     Othei-s  joined  them,  and  the  party  returned  to 
the  Academy,  singing  high  and  clear  these  words  : 

'*  The  traitor's  foot  is  on  thy  shore, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland ! 
His  touch  is  on  thy  senate  door, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland ! 
Avenge  the  patriotic  gore 
That  stained  the  streets  of  Baltimore, 
^\Tien  vandal  mobs  our  banners  tore, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 

••  Drum  out  thy  phalanx  brave  and  strong, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland  ! 
Drum  forth  to  balance  right  and  wrong, 

Maryland,  my  Maryland ! 
Drum  to  thy  old  heroic  song, 
When  forth  to  fight  went  Freedom's  throng, 
And  bore  the  spangled  flag  along, 

^Maryland,  my  Maryland  !  " 

«  That's  first-rate  ! "  said  Frank,  who  delighted  in 
music.  "Gray  altered  the  words  a  little,  and  Mr. 
Sinjin  found  us  the  tune." 

"  Frank  likes  any  thing  that  has  a  di'um  in  it,"  said 
John  Winch,  enviously.  "He'll  get  sick  of  drums, 
though,  soon  enough,  I  guess." 

"  Jack  judges  me  by  himself,"  said  Frank,  gayly,  set- 
ting out  to  run  a  race  with  Gray  to  the  parade-ground. 


IX. 

THANKSGIVIXG  IN   CJlMP. 

St.  John's  CoUeo-e  stands  on  a  beautiful  eminence 
overlooking  the  city.  The  college,  like  the  naval  school, 
had  been  broken  up  by  the  rebellion ;  its  halls  and 
dormitories  were  appropriated  to  government  uses, 
and  the  regiment  was  removed  thither  the  next  day. 

"You  will  be  surprised,"  Frank  wrote  home,  "to 
hear  that  I  have  been  through  the  naval  school  since  I 
came  here,  and  that  I  am  now  in  college." 

Few  boys  get  through  college  as  quick  as  he  did. 
On  the  following  day  the  regiment  abandoned  its  new 
quarters  also,  and  encamped  two  miles  without  the  city. 
In  the  afternoon  the  tents  were  pitched ;  and  where 
was  only  a  barren  field  before,  arose  in  the  red  sunset 
light  the  canvas  city,  with  its  regular  streets,  its  rows 
of  tent  doors  opening  upon  them,  and  its  animated, 
laughing,  lounging,  working  inhabitants. 

The  next  morning  was  fine.  All  around  the  camp 
were  pleasant  growths  of  pine,  oak,  gum,  and  per- 
simmon trees,  and  now  and  then  a  tree  festooned  with 

(94) 


THANKSGIVING    IN    CAMP.  95 

wild  grape-vines.  Near  by  were  a  few  scattered  an- 
cient-looking fann-hoiises,  with  their  out-door  chim- 
neys, dilapidated  out-buildings,  negro  huts,  and  tobacco 
fields.  There  were  several  other  regiments  in  the 
vicinity,  —  two  of  Massachusetts  boys.  And  there  the 
New  York  Zouaves,  in  their  beautiful  Oriental  cos- 
tumes, were  encamped.  Frank  chmbed  a  tree,  and 
looked  far  around  on  the  picturesque  and  warhke 
scene.  The  pickets,  which  had  gone  out  the  night  be- 
fore, now  returning,  discharged  their  loaded  pieces  at 
targets,  the  reports  blending  musically  with  the  near 
and  distant  roll  of  drums. 

"What  is  the  cheering  for?"  asked  Frank,  as  he 
came  in  that  day  from  a  ramble  in  the  woods. 

"  For  General  Burnside,"  said  Gray.  "  All  the  troops 
rendezvousing  at  Annapolis  are  to  be  under  his  com- 
mand, to  be  called  the  Coast  Division.  It  is  to  be 
another  Great  Armada;  and  our  colonel  thinks  we 
shall  see  fighting  soon." 

This  good  news  had  made  tlie  regiment  almost  wild 
with  joy ;  for  it  desired  nothing  so  much  as  to  be  led 
against  the  enemy  by  some  brave  and  famous  general. 

Frank  loved  the  woods;  and  the  next  day  he  in- 
duced his  companions  to  go  with  him  and  hunt  for 
nuts  and  fruits.  Although  it  was  late  in  autumn,  there 
were  still  persimmons  and  wild  grapes  to  be  had,  and 
walnuts,    and    butternuts.      But   Frank  had   another 


96  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

object  in  view  than  that  of  simply  pleasing  his  appe- 
tite. Thanksgiving  day,  which  is  bred  in  the  bones 
of  the  Xew  Englander,  and  which  he  carries  with  him 
every  where,  was  at  hand,  and  the  drummer  boy  had 
thought  of  something  which  he  fancied  would  suit  well 
the  festal  occasion. 

"  What  are  you  there  after  ? "  said  John  Winch, 
from  a  persimmon  tree ;  "  filUng  your  hands  with  all 
that  green  stufi'.  Come  here ;  O,  these  little  plums  are 
delicious,  I  tell  you." 

"These  grapes  are  the  thing,"  said  Harris,  from 
another  tree.  "I'm  going  to  eat  all  I  can;  then  I'm 
going  to  get  my  pockets  full  of  nuts  and  carry  back 
to  camp." 

Frank  busied  himself  in  his  own  way,  however,  and 
returned  to  camp  with  his  arms  loaded  with  ever- 
greens. 

"What  in  time  are  you  about?"  said  Winch,  as 
Frank  set  himself  industriously  to  work  with  twigs 
and  strings.  "  O,  I  know ;  wreaths !  Boys,  le's  make 
some  wreaths.  Give  me  some  of  your  holly,  won't 
you,  Frank?" 

"Yes,"  said  Frank,  "take  all  you  want  to  use.  I 
shall  be  very  glad  to  have  you  help  me." 

"  Will  you  show  me  how  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Frank;  "sit  down  here.  Bend  your 
twigs  and  tie  them  together,  in  the  first  place,  for 
a  fi-ame.     Then  bind  the  holly  on  it,  this  way." 


THANKSGIVING    IN    CAMP.  97 

«  O,  ain't  it  fun  ?  "  said  Winch,  with  his  usual  enthusi- 
asm over  a  new  thing.  "When  we  get  these  ever- 
greens used  up,  we'll  get  some  more,  and  make  wreaths 
for  all  the  tents."  He  worked  for  about  ten  minutes; 
then  began  to  yawn.  «  Where's  my  pipe  ?  I'm  going 
to  have  a  smoke.  How  can  you  have  patience  with 
that  nonsense,  Frank  ?  What's  the  use  of  a  wreath, 
anyhow,  after  it's  made  ?     Girl's  play,  I  caU  it." 

And  off  went  Winch,  having  used  up  a  ball  of 
Frank's  strings  to  no  purpose,  and  leaving  his  wreath 
half  finished. 

But  Frank,  never  easily  discouraged,  kept  cheer- 
fully at  work,  leaving  his  task  only  when  duty  called 
him. 

Thursday  came,  —  Thanksgiving.  A  holiday  in 
camp.  The  regiment  had  made  ample  preparations 
to  celebrate  it.  Instead  of  pork  and  salt  junk,  the  men 
were  allowed  turkeys;  and  in  place  of  boiled  hominy 
and  molasses,  they  had  plum  pudding.  And  they 
feasted,  and  told  gay  stories,  and  sang  brave  songs, 
and  thought  of  home,  where  ptirents,  wives,  sisters, 
and  friends  were,  they  fondly  believed,  eating  turkey 
and  plum  pudding  at  the  same  time,  and  thinking  of 
them.  T-here  was  no  drill  that  day;  and  no  practise 
with  any  drumsticks  but  those  of  the  devoted  turkeys. 

One  of  the  most  pleasing  incidents  of  the  day 
occurred  in  the  morning.  This  was  the  presentation 
7 


98  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

of  wreaths.  Frank  had  made  one  for  each  of  tha 
company  tents,  and  a  fine  one  for  Captain  Edney,  and 
one  equally  fine  for  Mr.  Sinjin,  the  drum-major,  and  a 
noble  one  for  the  colonel  of  the  regiment.  He  pre- 
sented them  all  in  person,  except  the  last,  which  he 
requested  Captain  Edney  to  present  for  him.  .  Tho 
captain  consented,  and  at  the  head  of  a  strong  delega- 
tion of  officers  and  men,  proceeded  to  Colonel 's 

tent,  called  him  out,  and  made  a  neat  little  speech,  and 
presented  the  wreath  on  the  end  of  his  sword. 

The  colonel  seemed  greatly  pleased. 

"  I  accept  tliis  wreath,"  he  said,  "  as  the  emblem  of 
a  noble  thought,  which  I  am  sure  must  have  inspired 
our  favorite  young  drummer  boy  in  making  it." 

Frank  blushed  like  a  girl  with  surprise  and  pleasure 
at  this  unexpected  compliment. 

"The  wreath,"  continued  tlie  colonel,  "is  the  crown 
of  victory ;  and  we  will  hang  up  ours,  my  fellow-sol- 
diers, on  this  memorable  Thanksgiving  day,  as  beautiful 
and  certain  sjTubols  of  the  success  of  Burxstde's 
Expedition." 

This  short  speech  was  greeted  with  enthusiastic 
applause.  Frank  was  delighted  with  the  result  of  his 
little  undertaking,  feeling-  himself  a  thousand  times 
repaid  for  all  his  pains;  while  John  Winch,  seeing 
him  in  such  high  favor  with  every  body,  could  not 
help  regretting,  with  many  a  jealous  pang,  that  he  had 


THANKSGIVING    IN    CAMP.  99 

not  assisted  in  makiDg  the  wreaths,  and  so  become  one 

of  the  heroes  of  the  occasion. 

That  evening  another  incident  occniTed,  not  less 
pleasing  to  the  drummer  boy.  With  a  block  of  wood 
for  a  seat,  and  the  head  of  his  drum  for  a  desk,  he  was 
writing  a  letter  to  his  mother,  by  a  solitary  candle, 
around  which  his  comrades  were  playing  cards  on  a 
table  constructed  of  a  rough  board  and  four  sticks. 
Amid  the  confusion  of  laughter  and  disputes,  with 
heads  or  arms  continually  intervening  between  him 
and  the  uncertain  light,  he  was  pursuing  his  task 
through  difficulties  which  would  have  made  many  a 
boy  give  up  in  vexation  and  despair,  when  a  voice  sud- 
denly exclaimed,  with  startling  emphasis,  — 

"  Frank  Manly,  drummer  ! "  And  at  the  same  instant 
something  was  thrown  into  the  tent,  like  a  bombshell, 
passing  the  table,  knocking  over  the  candle,  and 
extinojuishino;  the  lisfht. 

o  o  o 

"Well,  that's  manners,  I  should  say,"  cried  the 
voice  of  Seth  Tucket,  a  fellow,  as  Frank  described 
him,  "v/ho  makes  lots  of  fun  for  us,  partly  because  he 
is  full  of  it  himself,  and  partly  because  he  is  green,  and 
don't  know  any  better."  Tucket  muttered  and  spat, 
then 'broke  forth  again,  "I  be  darned  ef  that  pesky 
football  didn't  take  me  riglit  in  the  face,  and  spatter 
my  mouth  full  of  taller." 

"  Well,  save  the  tallei^  Seth,  for  we're  getting  short 


100  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

of  candles,"  said  Frank.  "Here,  who  is  walking  on 
my  feet?" 

"It's  me,"  said  Atwater.  "I'm  going  out  to  see 
who  threw  that  thing  in." 

"You're  too  late,"  said  Frank.  "Strike  a  light, 
somebody,  and  let's  see  Tvhat  it  is.  It  tumbled  down 
here  by  my  dram,  I  believe." 

There  was  a  general  scratching  of  matches,  and 
after  a  while  the  broken  candle  was  set  up  and  re- 
Hghted. 

"I  swan  to  man,"  then  said  Tucket,  "jest  look  at 
that  jack-of-spades.  He  got  it  in  the  physiognomy 
wus'n  I  did.  'Alas,  the  mother  that  him  bare,  if 
she  had  been  in  presence  there,  in  his  greased  cheeks 
and  greasier  hair,  she  had  not  known  her  child.' " 

These  words  fi-om  Marmion,  aptly  altered  to  suit  the 
occasion,  Seth,  who  was  not  so  green  but  that  he  knew 
pages  of  poetry  by  heart,  repeated  in  a  high-keyed, 
nasal  sing-song,  which  set  all  the  boys  laughing. 

"  A  pretty  way,  too,  to  turn  up  Jack,  I  should  say,'^ 
he  added,  in  allusion  to  the  candlestick,  —  a  turnip 
with  a  hole  in  it,  —  which  had  rolled  over  his  cards. 

In  the  mean  time,  Frank  and  Jack  Winch  were 
scrambling  for  the  missile. 

"  Let  me  have  it,"  snarled  Jack. 

"It's  mine;  my  unme  was  called  when  it  was  flung 
in,"  said  Frank,  maintaining  his  hold. 


THANKSGIVING    IN    CAMP.  101 

"Well,  keep  it,  then!"  said  John.  "It's  nothing 
but   a   great   wad   of  paper." 

"  It's  a  torpedo  !  an  infernal  machine  !  "  cried  Tuck- 
et. "  Look  out,  Manly !  it'll  blow  us  all  into  the  next 
Fourth  of  July." 

Frank  laughed,  as  he  began  to  undo  the  package. 
The   first   wrapper   was    of  brown   paper  with   these 
words  written  upon  it,  in  large  characters  :  — 
"  Feank  Manly,  Drummer. 
Biquire  Within^'' 

Beneath  that  wrapper  was  another,  and  beneath 
that  another,  and  so  on,  apparently  an  endless  series. 
The  boys  all  gathered  around  Frank,  looking  on  as  he 
removed  the  papers  one  by  one,  until  the  package, 
originally  as  big  as  his  head,  had  dwindled  to  the 
dimensions   of  his   fist. 

"  It's  got  as  many  peels  as  an  onion,"  said  Tucket. 

"Nothing  but  papers.  I  told  ye  so!"  said  Jack 
Winch. 

But  Frank  perceived  that  the  core  of  the  pack- 
age was  becoming  comparatively  solid  and  weighty. 
There  was  certainly  something  besides  paper  there. 
What  could  it  be?  a  stone?  But  what  an  odd- 
shaped  st(3ne  it  was !  Stones  are  not  often  of  such 
regular  shape,  so  uniformly  round  and  flattened.  He 
Jiad  almost  reached  the  last  wrapjDer;  his  heart  was 
beating   anxiously ;    but,   before    he    removed   it,   he 


102  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

thought  he  heard  a  peculiar  sound,  and  held  down  his 
ear.  A  flush  of  delight  overspread  his  countenance, 
and  he  clasped  the  ball  in  both  hands,  as  if  it  had  been 
something  precious. 

"  O,  boys !,"  he  exclaimed,  looking  up  eagerly  for 
their  sympathy,  "  where  did  it  come  from  ?  Atwatei 
did  you  see  any  body  ?  " 

Nobody.     It  was  all  a  mystery. 

"  Boys,  it's  for  me,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  Frank,  still  hug- 
ging his  treasure,  as  if  afraid  even  of  looking  at  it,  lest 
it  should  fly  away. 

"  Come,  let's  see  ! "  and  Winch  impatiently  made  a 
snatch  to  get  at  it. 

Atwater  coolly  took  him  by  the  arm,  and  pulled 
him  back.  Then  Frank,  carefully  as  a  young  mother 
uncovers  the  face  of  her  sleeping  baby,  removed  the 
tinsel  i^aper,  which  now  alone  intervened  between  the 
object  and  his  hand,  and  revealed  to  the  astonished 
eyes  of  his  comrades  a  tiny,  beautiful,  smiling-faced 
silver  Avatch. 

"  O,  isn't  it  a  beauty  ?  "  said  Frank,  almost  beside 
himself  with  delight;  for  a  watch  was  a  thing  of 
which  he  had  greatly  felt  the  need  in  beating  his  calls, 
and  wished  for  in  vain.  "Who  could  have  sent  it? 
Don't  you  know,  boys,  any  of  you  ?  "  he  asked,  the 
mystery  that  came  with  the  gift  filling  him  with 
strange,  perplexed  gladness. 


THANKSGIVIXG    IN    CAMP.  10<5 

"All  I  know  is,"  said  Tucket,  "I'd  be  willing  U 
have  six  candles,  all  lit,  knocked  down  my  throat,  and 
eat  taller  for  a  fortnight,  ef  such  a  kind  of  a  football, 
infernal  machine,  —  watch  you  call  it^  —  would  only 
come  to  me." 

"  Frank  '11  feel  bigger  n  ever  now,  with  a  watch  in 
his  pocket,"  said  the  envious  Jack  Winch,  with  a  bit- 
ter grin. 

All  had  some  remark  to  make  except  Atwater,  who 
stood  with  his  arms  drawn  up  under  his  cape,  and 
smiled  down  upon  Frank  well  pleased. 

Frank  in  the  mean  time  was  busily  engaged  in  try- 
ing to  discover,  among  all  the  papers,  some  scrap  of 
writing  by  which  the  unknown  donor  might  be  traced. 
But  writing  there  was  ncne.  And  the  mystery  re- 
mained unsolved.  * 


FRANK'S  PROGRESS. 

So  passed  Thanksgiving  in  camp. 

The  next  day  the  boys,  with  somewhat  higubrious 
faces,  returned  to  their  hard  diet  of  pork  and  hominy, 
heaving  now  and  then  a  sigh  of  fond  remembrance,  as 
they  thought  of  yesterday's  puddings  and  turkeys. 

And  now  came  other  hardships.  The  days  were 
generally  waiTu,  sometimes  hot  even,  like  those  of 
July  in  New  England.  But  the  nights  were  cold,  and 
growing  colder  and  colder  as  the  winter  came  on. 
And  the  tents  were  but  a  thin  shelter,  and  clothing 
was  scanty,  and  the  men  suffered.  Many  a  time 
Frank,  shivering  under  his  blanket,  thought,  with  a 
swelling  and  homesick  heart,  of  \Yinie  in  his  soft, 
warm  bed,  of  his  mother's  inexhaustible  store  of  com- 
forters, and  of  the  kitchen  stove  and  the  family  break- 
fast, those  raw  wintry  mornings. 

From  the  day  the  regiment  encam}5ed,  the  men  had 
expected  that  they  were  soon  to  move  again.  But 
now  they  determined  that,  even  though  they  should 

(104) 


Frank's  peogeess.  105 

have  orders  to  march  in  three  days,  they  would  make 
themselves  comfortable  in  the  mean  while.  They 
accordingly  set  to  work  constructing  underground 
stoves,  covered  with  flat  stones,  with  a  channel  on  one 
side  to  convey  away  the  smoke,  and  a  deeper  channel 
on  the  other  for  the  draft.  These  warmed  the  earth, 
and  kept  up  an  even  temperature  in  the  tents  all 
night. 

I  said  Frank  sometimes  had  homesick  feelings.  It 
was  not  alone  the  hardships  of  camp  life  that  caused 
them.  But  as  yet  he  had  not  received  a  single  letter 
fi'om  his  friends,  and  his  longing  to  get  news  from 
them  was  such  as  only  those  boys  can  understand 
who  have  never  been  away  from  home  until  they  have 
suddenly  gone  upon  a  long  and  comfortless  journey, 
and  who  then  begin  to  realize,  as  never  before,  all  the 
loving  care  of  their  parents,  the  kindness  of  brothers 
and  sisters,  and  the  blessedness  of  the  dear  old  nest 
from  which  they  have  untimely  flown. 

Owing  to  the  uncertainty  of  the  regiment's  des- 
tination. Captain  Edney  had  told  his  men  to  have 
all  their  friends'  letters  to  tfctim  directed  to  Washing- 
ton. There  they  had  been  sent,  and  there,  through 
some  misunderstanding  or  neglect,  they  remained. 
And  though  a  small  mail-bag  full  had  been  written  to 
Frank,  this  was  the  reason  he  had  never  yet  received 
one. 


106  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

Alas  for  those  missing  letters !  The  lack  of  them 
injured  Frank  more  deeply  and  lastingly  than  simply 
by  wounding  his  heart.  For  soon  that  hurt  began  to 
heal.  He  was  fast  getting  used  to  living  without 
news  from  his  family.  He  consoled  himself  by  enter- 
ing more  fully  than  he  had  done  at  first  into  the 
excitements  of  the  camp.  And  the  sacred  influence 
of  HOME,  so  potent  to  solace  and  to  save,  even  at  a 
distance,  was  wanting. 

And  here  begins  a  portion  of  Frank's  history  which 
I  would  be  glad  to  pass  over  in  silence.  But,  as  many 
boys  will  probably  read  this  story  who  are  not  alto- 
gether superior  to  temptation,  and  who  do  not  yet 
know  how  easy  it  is  for  even  a  good-hearted,  honest, 
and  generous  lad  sometimes  to  forget  his  mother's 
lessons  and  his  own  promises,  and  commence  that 
slow,  gradual,  downward  course,  which  nearly  always 
begins  before  we  are  aware,  and  from  which  it  is  then 
so  hard  to  turn  back  ;  and  as  many  may  learn  from  his 
experience,  and  so  save  themselves  much  shame  and 
their  friends  much  anguish,  it  is  better  that  Frank's 
history  should  be  related  without  reserve. 

In  the  first  place,  he  learned  to  smoke.  He 
began  by  taking  a  whiff,  now  and  then,  out  of  the 
pipe  of  a  comrade,  just  to  be  in  fashion,  and  to 
keep  himself  warm  those  chill  evenings  and  mornings. 
Then  a  tobacco  planter  gave  him,  in  return  for  some 


Frank's  pkogkess.  107 

polite  act  on  bis  part,  a  bunch  of  tobacco  leaA^es, 
which  Frank,  with  his  usual  ingenuity,  made  up 
into  cigars  for  himself  and  friends.  The  cigars 
consumed,  he  obtained  more  tobacco  of  some  ne- 
groes, addicted  himself  to  a  pipe,  and  became  a 
regular   smoker. 

Now,  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  this,  of  itself,  was 
a  very  great  sin.  It  was,  however,  a  foolish  thing  in 
Frank  to  form  at  his  age  a  habit  which  might  tyran- 
nize over  him  for  life,  and  make  him  in  the  en4,  as  he 
himself  once  said  to  John  Winch,  "  a  filthy,  tobacco- 
spitting  old  man." 

But  the  Avorst  of.it  was,  he  had  promised  his  mother 
he  would  not  smoke.  He  thought  he  had  a  good 
excuse  for  breaking  his  word  to  her.  "  I  am  sure,"  he 
said,  "if  she  knew  how  cold  I  am  sometimes,  she 
wouldn't  blame  me."  Unfortunately,  however,  when 
one  promise  has  been  broken,  and  nobody  hurt, 
another   is   broken    so    easily ! 

Ardent,  sympathetic,  fond  of  good-fellowship,  Frank 
caught  quickly  the  spirit  of  those  xiround  him.  He 
loved  approbation,  and  dreaded  any  thing  that  sa- 
vored of  ridicule.  He  disliked  particularly  the  ap- 
pellation of  "  the  parson,"  which  John  Winch,  finding 
that  it  annoyed  him,  used  now  whenever  he  wished  to 
speak  of  him  injuriously.  Others  soon  fell  into  the 
habit  of  applying  to  him  the  ofiensive  title,  without 


108  THE    DKUMilEE    BOY. 

malice  indeed,  and  for  no  other  reason,  I  suppose,  than 
that  nicknames  are  the  fashion  in  the  army.  To  call  a 
man  simply  by  his  honest  name  seems  commonplace ; 
but  to  christen  him  the  "  Owl "  if  his  eyes  are  big, 
or  "  Old  Tongs "  if  his  legs  are  long,  or  "  Step- 
and-fetch-it "  if  he  suffers  himself  to  be  made  the 
underling  and  catspaw  of  his  comrades,  —  that  is  con- 
sidered picturesque  and  amusing. 

Frank  would  have  preferred  any  of  these  epithets  to 
the  one  Winch  had  fastened  upon  him.  Perhaps  it 
was  to  show  how  little  he  deserved  it,  that  he  made 
his  conduct  appear  as  unclerical  as  possible  —  smok- 
ing, swaggering,  and,  I  am  sorry  to  add,  swearing. 
Imbibing  unconsciously  the  spirit  of  his  companions, 
and  imitating  by  degrees  their  habits  and  conversa- 
tion, he  became  profane  before  he  knew  it,  —  excusing 
himself  on  the  plea  that  every  body  swore  in  the 
army..  This  was  only  too  near  the  truth.  Men  who 
had  never  before  indulged  in  profanity,  now  frequently 
let  slip  a  light  oath,  and  thought  nothing  of  it.  For  it 
is  one  of  the  great  evils  of  war  that  men,  however 
refined  at  home,  soon  forget  themselves  amid  the  hard- 
ships, roughness,  and  turbulence  of  a  soldier's  Hfe.  It 
seems  not  only  to  disguise  their  persons,  but  their 
characters  also  ;  so  that  those  vices  which  would  have 
shocked  them  when  surrounded  by  the  old  social  influ- 
ences appear  rather  to  belong  to  their  new  rude,  half- 


Frank's  pkogress.  109 

barbarous  existence.  And  we  all  know  the  pernicious 
effect  when  numbers  of  one  sex  associate  exclusively 
together,  unblessed  by  the  naturally  refining  influence 
of  the  other. 

Siich  being  the  case  with  men  of  years  and  respect- 
ability, we  need  not  wonder  that  Frank  should  follow 
their  example.  Indeed,  from  the  first,  we  had  but  one 
strong  ground  of  hope  for  one  so  young  and  suscep- 
tible —  that  he  would  remember  his  pledges  to  his 
mother.  These  violated,  the  career  of  ill  begun, 
where   would  he   end  ? 

Here,  however,  I  should  state  that  Frank  never 
thought,  as  some  boys  do,  that  it  is  smart  and  manly 
to  swear.  Sometimes  we  hear  a  man  talk,  whom  the 
vicious  habit  so  controls  that  he  cannot  speak  without 
blasphemy.  With  such,  oaths  become  as  necessary  a 
part  of  speech  as  articles  or  prepositions.  If  deprived 
of  them  they  are  crippled ;  they  seem  lost,  and  cannot 
express  themselves.  They  are  therefore  unfit  for  any 
society  but  that  of  loafers  and  brawlers.  Such  slavery 
to  an  idle  and  foolish  custom  Frank  had  the  sense  to 
detest,  even  while  he  himself  was  coming  under  its 
yoke. 

Here,  too,  before  quitting  the  subject,  justice  re- 
quires us  to  bear  witness  in  favor  of  those  distin- 
guished exceptions  to  the  common  profanity,  all  the 
more   honorable   because   they  were  few.     Although, 


110  THE    DEUMZSIER   BOY. 

generally  speaking,  officers  and  men  were  addicted  to 
the  practice,  the  language  of  here  and  there  an  officer, 
and  here  and  there  a  private,  shone  like  streaks  of 
unsullied  snow  amid  ways  of  trodden  mire.  Captain 
Edney  never  swore.  Atwater  never  did.  No  j^ro- 
fane  word  ever  fell  from  the  lips  of  young  Gray.  And 
there  were  others  whose  example  in  this  respect  wa? 
equally  pure. 

Fortunately,  Frank  was  kept  pretty  busy  these 
times ;  else,  with  that  uneasy  hankering  for  excite- 
ment which  possesses  unoccupied  minds,  and  that 
inclination  to  mischief  which  possesses  unoccupied 
hands,  he  might  have  acquired  worse  vices. 

No  doubt  some  of  our  young  readers  will  be  inter- 
ested to  know  what  he  had  to  do.  The  following 
were  some  of  his  duties :  — 

At  daybreak  the  drummerh  call  was  beat  by  the 
drums  of  the  guard-tent.  Frank,  though  once  so  pro- 
found a  sleeper,  had  learned  to  wake  instantly  at  the 
sound ;  and,  before  any  of  his  comrades  were  astii',  he 
snatched  uj?  his  drum,  and  hurried  from  the  tent. 
That  call  was  a  signal  for  all  the  drummers  to  assem- 
ble before  the  colors  of  the  regiment,  and  beat  the 
reveille.  Then  Frank  and  his  fellow-drummers  prac-, 
tised  the  douhle-quicJc  for  two  hours.  Then  they  beat 
the  breakfast  call.  Then  they  ate  their  breakfast.  At 
eight  o'clock  they  had  to  turn  out  again,  and  beat  the 


Frank's  progress.  Ill 

sergeants  call.  At  nine  o'clock  they  beat  for  guard 
mounting.  Then  they  practised  two  hours  more  at 
loheding^  double-quick^  &c.  They  then  beat  the  diri- 
ner  call.  Then  they  had  the  pleasure  of  laying  aside 
the  drumsticks,  and  taking  up  tlte  knife  and  fork  once 
more.  After  dinner  more  calls  and  similar  practice. 
The  time  from  supper  (five  o'clock)  until  the  beat  for 
the  evening  roll-call  (at  eight),  the  drummers  had  to 
themselves.  After  that  the  men  were  dismissed  for 
the  night,  and  could  go  to  bed  if  thiy  chose,  —  all 
except  the  drummers,  who  must  sit  up  and  beat  the 
tattoo  at  nine.  That  is  the  signal  for  the  troops  to 
retire.  Then  come  the  taps  (to  extinguish  lights), 
beat  by  each  drummer  in  the  company,  gomg  down 
the  line   of  tents. 

There  were  other  calls  besides  those  mentioned, 
such  as  the  company  drill  call^  the  adjutants  call^  to 
the  color^  &c.,  all  of  which  were  beat  differently ;  so 
that,  as  you  see,  the  drummer  boy's  situation  was  no 
sinecure. 

He  found  his  watch  of  great  assistance  to  him,  in 
giving  him  warning  of  the  moment  to  be  ready  for 
the  stated  calls.  Although  evidently  a  new  watch,  it 
had  been  well  regulated,  and  it  kept  excellent  time. 
The  secret  donor  of  this  handsome  present  was  still 
undiscovered.  Sometimes  he  suspected  the  colonel, 
sometimes  Captain  Edney ;  then  he  surmised  that  it 


112  THE    DEUMMER    BOY. 

must' somehow  have  come  to  him  from  home.  But 
all  his  conjectures  and  inquiiies  on  the  subject  were 
alike  in  vain ;  and  he  enjoyed  the  exquisite  torment 
of  feeling  that  he  had  a  lover  somewhere  who  was 
unknown  to  him.       * 


XI. 

A  CHRISTMAS  FROLIC. 

Cheistmas  came.  'The  men  had  a  holiday,  but  no 
turkeys,  no  plum  puddings,  except  such  as  had  come 
to  individuals  in  private  boxes  from  home.  The  siglit 
of  these  boxes  was  not  very  edifying  to  those  who  had 
none.  Frank,  who  was  once  more  in  communication 
with  his  friends,  had  expected  such  a  box,  and  been 
disaj^pointed. 

"You  jest  come  along  with  me,  boys,"  said  Seth 
Tucket,  "  and  we'll  lay  in  for  as  merry  a  Christmas  as 
any  of  'em.  It  may  come  a  little  later  in  the  day; 
but  patient  waiters  are  no  losers, — as  the  waiter  said 
when  he  picked  the  pockets  of  the  six  gentlemen  at 
dinner." 

"What's  the  fun?"  asked  the  boys,  who  were  gen- 
erally ready  for  any  sport  into  which  Seth  would  lead 
them. 

He  answered  them  enigmatically,  "'^y^7,  be  thou 
jny  good  ! '  —  that's  what  Milton's  bad  angel  said. 
'  Fowl^  be  thou  my  fare  f  —  that's  what  I  say."  From 
8  (113) 


114  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

which  significant  response,  followed  by  an  apt  imitation 
of  a  turkey  gobbler,  the  boys  understood  that  he  had 
some  device  for  obtaining  poultry  for  dinner. 

It  was  a  holiday,  as  I  have  said,  and  they  had 
ah'eady  got  permission  to  go  beyond  the  lines.  There 
were  some  twenty  of  them  in  all,  Frank  included. 
Tucket  led  them  to  a  thicket  about  two  miles  fi'om 
camp,  where  they  halted. 

"You  see  that  house  yonder.  That's  where  old 
Buckley  lives  —  the  meanest  man  in  Maryland." 

"  I  know  him,"  said  Frank.  "  He's  a  rebel ;  he 
threatened  to  set  his  dog  on  us  one  day.  He  hates  the 
Union  uniform  worse  than  he  does  the  Old  Scratch." 

"He  has  got  lots  of  turkeys,"  said  Ellis,  "which  he 
told  the  sergeant  he'd  see  die  in  the  pen  before  he'd 
sell  one  to  a  Yankee." 

"  I  know  where  the  pen  is,"  said  John  Winch ;  "  he 
keeps  'em  shut  up,  so  our  boys  shan't  steal  'em,  and 
he  and  his  dog  and  his  nigger  watch  the  pen." 

"Well,  boys,"  said  Seth,  "now  the  thing  is  to  get  the 
turkeys.  As  rebel  property,  it's  our  duty  to  confiscate 
'em,  and  use  'em  for  the  support  of  the  Union  cause. 
Now  I've  an  idee.  I'll  go  over -in  the  woods  there,  and 
wait,  while  one  of  you  goes  to  the  house  and  asks  him 
if  he  has  got  any  turkeys  to  sell.  He'll  say  no,  of 
course.  Then  ask  him  if  you  may  have  the  one  out 
in  the  woods  there.     He'll  say  there  ain't  none  in  the 


A    CHRISTMAS    FROLIC.  115 

■^oods;  but  you  must  insist  there  is  one,  and  t>ay  if 
'tain't  his  you'll  take  it,  and  settle  with  the  owner  when 
he  calls  That'll  start  him,  and  I'll  see  that  he  goes 
into  the  woods  fur  enough,  so  that  the  rest  of  you  can 
rush  up,  grab  every  man  his  turkey,  and  skedaddle. 
Winch '11  show  you  the  way;  he  says  he  knows  the. 
pen.  '  Charge,  Elhs,  charge !  On,  Harris,  on  !  Shall 
be  the  Avords  of  private  John.'  But  who'll  go  first 
1:  the  house?"  asked  Seth,  coming  down  from  the 
high  key  in  w^hich  he  usually  got  off  his  poetry. 

"  Let  Frank,"  said  Harris ;  "  for  he  knows  the  man." 

"  He  ?  He  dasn't  go ! "  sneered  Jack.  "  He's  afraid 
of  the  dog." 

This  base  imputation  decided  Frank  to  undertake 
the  errand,  which,  after  all,  notwithstanding  the  dan- 
ger attending  it,  was  less  repugnant  to  his  feelings 
than  more  direct  participation  in  the  robbery. 

Seth  departed  to  ensconce  himself  in  the  woods. 
Frank  then  went  on  to  the  secessionist's  house,  quieting 
his  conscience  by  the  way  with  reflections  like  these : 
It  was  owing  to  such  men  as  this  disloyal  Marylander 
tliat  the  Union  troops  were  now  suffering  so  many 
hardships.  The  good  things  possessed  by  traitors,  or 
by  those  who  sympathized  with  traitors,  were  fairly  for- 
feited to  patriots  who  were  giving  their  blood  to  their 
country.  Stealing,  in  such  a  case,  was  no  robbery. 
And  so  forth,  and   so  forth  —  sentiments  which  pre- 


116  THE    DEUMMEE    BOY. 

vailed  pretty  generally  in  the  army.  Besidts,  thei;(3 
was  fun  in  the  adventure ;  and  with  boys  a  little  fiin 
covers  a  multitude  of  sins. 

The  fun,  however,  was  considerably  daiiii:ened,  oii 
Frank's  part,  as  he  aj^proached  the  house.  "Bow, 
wow!"  suddenly  spoke  the  deep,  dreadful  tones  ol 
the  rebel  mastiff.  He  hated  the  national  uniform  as 
intensely  as  his  master  did,  and  came  bounding  to- 
wards Frank  as  if  his  intention  was  to  eat  him  up 
at  once. 

Now,  the  ti'uth  is,  Frank  was  afraid  of  the  dog. 
His  heart  beat  fast,  his  flesh  felt  an  electric  chill,  and 
there  was  a  curious  stirring  in  the  roots  of  his  hair. 
The  dog  came  right  on,  bristling  up  as  large  as  two 
dogs,  oj^ening  his  ferocious  maw,  and  barking  and 
growling  terribly.  Then  the  fun  of  the  thing  was  still 
more  dampened,  to  the  boy's  appreciation,  by  a  sudden 
suspicion.  Why  had  his  companions  thrust  the  most 
perilous  part  of  the  enterprise  upon  him,  the  youngest 
of  the  party  ?  It  was  mean ;  it  was  cowardly ;  and  the 
whole  affair  was  intended  to  make  sport  for  the  rest, 
by  gettmg  him  into  a  scrape.  So,  at  least,  thought 
Frank. 

"But  I'll  show  them  I've  got  some  pluck,"  said 
something  within  him,  proud  and  determined. 

To  fear  danger  is  one  thing.  To  face  it  boldly,  in 
spite  of  that  fear,  is  quite  another.     The  first  is  com- 


A.    CHRISTMAS    FROLIC.  117 

mon ;  the  last  is  rare  as  true  courage.  Tne  dog  came 
straight  up  to  Frank,  and  Frank  marched  straight  up 
to  the  dog. 

"  Even  if  I  had  known  he  would  bite,"  said  Frank, 
afterwards,  "  I'd  have  done  it."  For  he  did  not  know 
at  the  time  that  this  was  the  very  best  way  to  avoid 
being  bitten.  The  dog,  astonished  by  this  straight- 
forward proceeding,  and  probably  thinking  that  one 
who  advanced  unflinchingly,  with  so  brave  a  face, 
without  weapons,  must  have  honest  business  with  his 
master,  stepped  aside,  and  growlingly  let  him  pass. 

"  Where's  your  master  ?  "  said  Frank,  coolly,  to  an 
old  negi'o,  who  was  shuffing  across  the  yard.  "I 
want  to  see  him  a  minute." 

'^Yes,  massa,"  said  the  black,  pulling  at  his  cap,  and 
bowing  obsequiously. 

He  disappeared,  and  presently  "  old  Buckley  "  came 
out,  looking  worthy  to  be  the  dog's  master. 

"Perhaps,"  thought  Frank,  "if  I  treat  him  in  the 
same  way,  he  won't  bite,  either;'  and  he  walked 
straight  up  to  him.  The  biped  did  not  bark  or  growl, 
as  the  quadruped  had  done,  but  he  looked  wickedly  at 
Ihe  intruder. 

"How  about  those  turkeys?"  said  Frank. 

"What  turkeys?"  returned  the  man,  surlily. 

"  It  is  Christmas  now,  and  I  though'  you  might  be 
ready  to  sell  some  of  them,"  continued  Frank,  nothing 
daunted. 


118  THE    DRUMMER    BOF. 

"I've  no  turkeys  to  sel],"  said  the  man. 

"But  you  had  a  lot  of  them,"  said  Frank. 

"I  had  fifty."  Buckley  looked  sternly  at  Frank, 
and  continued:  "Half  of  them  have  been  stolen  by 
you  Yankee  thieves.     And  you  know  it." 

"  Stolen !  If  that  isn't  too  bad  ! "  exclaimed  Frank. 
"I  am  sure  I  have  never  had  one^  of  them.  Are  you 
certain  they  have  been  stolen?  I  heard  a  gobbler 
over  in  the  woods  here,  as  I  came  along." 

"  You  did  ?  "  said  the  man. 

Frank  thought  it  only  a  very  white  lie  he  was  tell- 
ings having  heard,  at  all  events  a  very  good  imita- 
tion of  a  gobbler.  He  repeated  roundly  his  assertion. 
The  man  regarded  him  with  a  steady  scowling  scru- 
tiny for  near  a  minute,  his  surly  hps  apart,  his  hands 
thrust  into  his  pockets.  Frank,  who  could  speak  the 
truth  with  as  clear  and  beautiful  a  brow  as  ever  was 
seen,  could  not  help  wincing  a  httle  under  the  old 
fellow's  slow,  sullen,  suspicious  observation. 

"Boy,"  said  the  man,  without  taking  his  hands 
from  his  pockets,  "you're  a  lying  to  me!" 

"Very  well,"  said  Frank,  turning  on  his  heel,  "if 
you  think  so,  then  I  suppose  it  isn't  your  turkey." 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  said 
the  man. 

"The  federal  army,"  said  Frank,  with  a  smile,  "has 
need  of  that  turkey.  I  shall  take  him,  and  settle  with 
the  owner  when  he  turns  up." 


A    CHRISTMAS    FROLIC.  119 

And  he  walked  off.  The  man  was  evidently  more 
than  half  convinced  there  was  a  turkey  in  the  woods  ^— 
probably  one  that  had  escaped  when  a  part  of  his 
flock  was  stolen. 

"  Toby,"  said  he,  "  fetch  my  gun." 

The  old  negro  trotted  into  the  house,  and  trotted 
out  agaiu,  bringing  a  double-barrelled  shot-gun,  which 
Frank  did  not  like  the  looks  of  at  all. 

"  There's  some  Yankee  trick  here,"  said  the  seces- 
sionist, cocking  the  piece,  and  carefully  putting  a  cap 
on  each  barrel;  "but  I  reckon  they'll  find  me  enough 
for  'em.  Toby,  you  stay  here  with  the  dog,  and  take 
care  of  things.  Now,  boy,  march  ahead  there,  and 
show  me  that  gobbler." 

The  old  negro  grinned.  So  did  his  master,  in  a 
way  Frank  did  not  fancy.  It  was  a  morose,  men- 
acing, savage  grin  —  a  very  appropriate  prelude, 
Frank  thought,  to  a  shot  from  behind  out  of  that 
two-barrelled  fowling-piece.  But  it  was  too  late  now 
to  retreat.  So,  putting  on  a  bold  and  confident  air, 
he  started  for  the  woods,  followed  by  the  grim  man 
with  the  gun. 

His  sensations  by  the  way  were  not  greatly  to  be 
envied.  He  had  never  felt,  as  he  afterwards  ex- 
pressed it,  so  streaked  in  his  life.  By  that  term 
I  suppose  he  alluded  to  those  peculiar  thrills  which 
sometimes    creep    over    one,   fi'om   the    scalp   to   the 


120  THE    DEUMMER    BOY. 

ankles,  when  some  great  dar^ger  is  apprehended.  For 
it  was  evident  that  this  man  was  in  deadly  earnest. 
Tramp,  tramp,  he  came  after  Frank,  with  his  left 
hand  on  the  stock  of  his  gun,  the  other  on  the  lock, 
ready  to  pop  him  over  the  moment  he  should  discover 
he  had  been  trifled  with.  Xo  doubt  their  depart- 
ure had  been  watched  by  the  boys  from  the  thicket, 
and  the  unlucky  drummer  expected  every  moment 
to  hear  the  alarm  of  a  premature  attack  upon  the 
tnrkey-pen,  which  would,  unquestionably,  prove  the 
signal  for  his  own  immediate  execution. 

"  He  will  shoot  me  first,"  thought  Frank,  "  to  be 
revenged;  then  he'll  run  back  to  defend  his  prop- 
erty." 

And  now,  although  he  had  long  since  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  was  willing  to  die,  if  necessaiy,  fighting 
for  his  country,  his  whole  soul  shrunk  with  fear  and 
dread  from  the  shameful  death,  in  a  shameful  cause, 
with  which  he  was  menaced. 

"  Shot^  hy  a  secessionist^  in  the  act  of  stealing  tur- 
keysP  How  would  that  sound,  reported  to  his  friends 
at  home  ? 

"  Shot  while  gallantly  charging  the  enemy'' s  battery^'* 
llow  difierently  that  would  read!  and  the  poor  boy 
wished  that  he  had  let  the  miserable  turkeys  alone, 
und  waited  to  try  his  fortunes  on  the  battle-field. 

However,  being  once  in   the   scrape,  although  the 


A    CHRISTMAS    FROLIC.  121 

cause  was  a  bad  one,  he  determined  to  show  no 
craven  sj^irit.  With  a  heart  like  hot  lead  within 
him,  he  marched  with  every  appearance  of  willing- 
ness and  confidence  into  the  woods,  regarding  the 
gun  no  more  than  if  it  had  been  designed  for  the 
obvious  purpose  of  shooting  the  gobbler. 

"  When  we  come  in  sight  of  him,"  said  Frank,  "  let 
me  shoot  him,  won't  you?" 

"  H'm !  I  reckon  I'll  give  you  a  shot ! "  muttered 
the  man,  with  darkly  dubious  meaning. 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  said  Frank.  "  Our  boys  have 
two  cartridges  apiece  given  them  every  day  now, 
and  they  practise  shooting  at  a  target.  But  as  I  am 
a  drummer,  I  don't  have  any  chance  to  shoot.  There's 
your  turkey  now." 

In  fact  an  unmistakable  gobble  was  just  then  heard 
farther  on  in  the  woods. 

"  May  I  take  the  gun  and  go  on  and  shoot  him  ? " 
Franl^  asked,  with  an  innocent  air. 

And  he  stopped,  determined  now  to  get  behind 
the  man,  if  he  could  not  obtain  the  gun. 

The  rebel  laughed  grimly  at  the  idea  of  giving  wp 
his  weapon.  But  the  sound  of  the  turkey,  together 
with  the  boy's  cool  and  self-possessed  conduct,  had 
so  far  deceived  him  that  he  no  longer  drove  Frank 
inexorably  before  him,  but  permitted  him  to  walk  by 
his  side,  ancl  even  to  lag  a  little  behind. 


122  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"Gobble,  obblc,  obble!"  said  the  turkey,  behind 
some  bushes,  still  several  rods  off. 

"Yes,  that's  my  turkey  ! "  said  the  man,  ready 
enough  to  claim  the  unseen  fowl. 

"  How  do  you  know  he  is  yours  ?  "   asked  Frank. 

« I  know  his  gobble.  One  I  had  stole  gobbled  jest 
like  that."  And  the  secessionist's  stem  features  re« 
laxed  a  little. 

Frank's  relaxed  a  little,  too;  for,  serious  as  his 
dilemma  had  seemed  a  minute  since,  he  could  not 
but  be  amused  by  the  man's  undoubting  recognition 
of  that  gobble. 

"All  turkeys  make  a  noise  alike,"  said  Frank. 

"No  they  don't,  no  they  don't!"  said  the  man, 
positively,  —  no  doubt  fearing  a  plot  to  get  the  fowl 
away  from  him,  and  anxious  to  set  up  his  claim  in 
season.  "  I  reckon  I  know  about  turkeys.  Hear 
that?" — as  the  sound  was  heard  again,  still  at  a  dis- 
tance. "  That's  my  bird.  I  should  know  that  gobble 
among  five  hundred." 

Frank  suppressed  his  merriment,  thinking  that  now 
was  his  time  to  get  away. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "unless  you'll  sell  me  the  bird,  I 
don't  know  that  there's  any  use  of  my  going  any  far- 
ther with  you." 

He  expected  a  repetition  of  the  refusal  to  sell,  when 
he  would  have  the  best  excuse  in  the  world  for  making 


A    CHRISTMAS    FROLIC.  123 

his  escape.  But  Buckley  was  still  suspicious  of  some 
trick,  — fearing,  perhaps,  that  Frank  would  run  off 
and  get  help  to  secure  the  turkey. 

"We'll  see;  we'll  see.  Wait  till  we  get  the  bird,'' 
said  the  man.  "You've  done  me  a  good  turn  telling 
me  about  him,  and  mayhap  I'll  sell  liim  to  you  for 
your  honesty.     But  wait  a  bit ;  wait  a  bit." 

They  were  fast  approaching  the  bushes  where  the 
supposed  turkey  was. 

"Quit,  quit,  quit!  Gobble,  obble,  obble!"  said  the 
pretended  fowl. 

"He  must  know  now,"  thought  Frank,  with  re- 
newed ai^prehension  ;  but  he  dared  not  run. 

In  fact,  the  old  fellow  was  beginning  to  see  that  his 
recognition  of  his  gobbler  had  been  premature.  A 
patch  of  blue  uniform  was  visible  through  the  brush. 
The  rebel  stopped,  and  drew  up  his  gun.  As  Hamlet 
killed  Polonius  for  a  rat,  so  would  he  kill  a  Yankee 
for  a  turkey.  Click!  the  piece  was  cocked  and 
aimed. 

"  Here,  you  old  clodhopper,  you ;  don't  you  shoot ! 
don't  you  shoot  ! "  screamed  Seth  Tucket,  rushin<^ 
wildly  out  of  the  bushes  just  as  the  rebel  pulled 
the  trigger. 


xn. 

THE   SECESSIONIST'S  TURKEYS. 

In  the  mean  time  the  boys,  watching  from  their 
ambush,  and  seeing  that  the  rebel  had  gone  off  with 
Frank,  but  left  his  dog  and  negro  behind^  armed  them- 
selves with  clubs.  When  all  was  ready.  Winch  gave 
the  word,  and  forward  they  dashed  at  the  double- 
quick,  clearing  more  than  half  the  space  intervening 
between  them  and  the  barns,  before  they  were  discov- 
ered by  the  enemy.  Then  the  dog  bounded  out  with 
a  bark,  and  the  old  negro  began  to  "  holler,"  and  the 
rebel's  wife  and  daughter  ran  out  and  screamed,  and 
an  old  negress  also  appeared,  brandishing  a  broom, 
and  adding  her  voice  to  the  chorus. 

At  this  moment  the  report  of  a  gun  came  from  the 
direction  in  which  the  secessionist  had  gone  off  with 
Frank. 

John  Winch  heard  it,  just  as  the  dog  met  the  char- 
ging party.  Who  was  killed  ?  Frank  or  Seth  ?  John 
did  not  know,  but  he  was  frightened.  He  had  come 
for  fun  and  poultry,  not  for  fighting  and  bullets.     Nei- 

(121) 


THE    secessionist's    TURKEYS.  VAb 

ther  was  he  particularly  ambitious  to  be  bitten  by  that 
EQonstrous  dog.  He  lost  faith  in  his  club,  and  dropped 
it.  He  lost  confidence  in  the  prowess  of  his  com- 
panions, and  deserted  them.  In  short,  Jack  Winch, 
who  had  been  one  of  the  most  eager  to  engage  in  the 
adventure,  took  ignominiously  to  his  heels. ' 

He  reached  the  thicket  before  venturing  to  look 
behind  him.  Then  he  saw  that  his  comrades  had 
frightened  away  the  negro,  beaten  back  the  dog,  and 
taken  the  turkey-pen  by  storm.  He  would  now  have 
been  but  too  glad  to  join  them ;  but  it  was  too  late. 
Having  accomplished  their  undertaking,  they  were 
returning,  each  bringing,  pendent  by  the  legs,  a  flop- 
ping fowl. 

It  is  better  to  be  a  brave  man  than  a  coward,  even 
in  a  bad  cause.  Fortune  often  favors  brave  men  in 
the  wrong  in  preference  to  aiding  cowards  in  the 
right,  for  Fortune  loves  not  a  poltroon.  John  Winch 
felt  at  that  moment  that  nobody  henceforth  would 
love  or  favor  him,  and  he  began  to  fi-ame  excuses 
for  his  shameful  conduct. 

"Hello,  Jack  Winch,"  cried  ElHs,  coming  up  with 
a  turkey  in  one  hand  and  a  chicken  in  the  other, 
"  you're  a  smart  leader  —  to  run  away  from  a  yelping 
dog  like  that !  " 

"  Coward !  coward !  '  chimed  in  the  others,  with 
angry  contempt. 


126 


THE    DEUMMER    BOY. 


"  I  sprained  my  ankle.  Didn't  you  know  it  ?  "  said 
the  miserable  Jack,  with  a  writhing  countenance, 
limping. 

"  Sprained  your  granny  !  "  exclaimed  Harris.  "  I 
never  saw  a  sprained  ankle  go  over  the  ground 
so  fast  as  yours  did,  just  as  we  came  to  the 
dog." 

"Then  I  heard  the  gun,"  said  Jack,  "  and  I  w^as 
afraid  either  Seth  or  Frank  was  shot." 

"  Woe  to  the  man  of  turkeys  if  they  are  ! "  said  Joe, 
twisting  the  neck  of  his  fowl  to  quiet  it.  "  We'll 
serve  him  as  I  am  serving  this  hen." 

The  boys  hastened  to  a  rendezvous  they  had  ap- 
pointed with  the  absent  ones,  followed  by  Jack  at 
a  very  creditable  pace,  considering  his  excruciating 
lameness. 

As  yet,  neither  Frank  nor  Seth  had  been  shot. 
The  charge  of  buck  shot  fired  from  the  rebel  fowling- 
j^iece  had  entered  the  bushes  just  as  the  blue  uniform 
left  them.  But  the  secessionist  cocked  the  other  bar- 
rel of  his  piece  immediately,  with  the  intention  of 
making  up  for  the  error  of  his  first  aim. 

"  Shoot  me,"  shouted  Seth,  "  and  you'll  be  swinging 
from  that  limb  in  five  minutes  !  " 

The  man  hesitated,  glancing  quickly  about  for  those 
who  were  expected  to  put  Seth's  threat  into  exe- 
cution. 


THE    secessionist's    TURKEYS.  127 

"I've  twenty  fellows  with  me,"  added  Setn,  "and 
they'll  string  yon  up  in  no  time,  by  darn  ! " 

The  secessionist  was  not  so  much  impressed  by  the 
rather  slender  oath  with  which  Seth  clinched  his 
speech,  as  by  the  sharp  and  earnest  tone  in  which  the 
whole  was  uttered,  —  Seth  walking  savagely  up  to 
him  as  he  spoke.  All  the  while,  the  alarm  raised  by 
the  negro,  and  the  dog,  and  the  women,  was  sounding 
in  the  man's  ears. 

"  They're  after  my  turkeys !  This  is  your  trick, 
boy ! "  and  he  sprang  upon  Frank,  lifting  his  gun  as  if 
to  level  him  to  the  earth. 

But  Seth  sprang  after  him,  and  seized  the  weapon 
before  it  descended.  That  gi-een  down-easter  was 
cool  as  if  he  had  been  at  a  game  of  ball.  He  was  an 
athletic  youth,  and  he  readily  saw  that  Buckley, 
though  a  sturdy  farmer,  was  no  match  for  him. 
He  pushed  him  back,  shouting  shrilly,  at  the  same 
time,   in   the  words  of  his  favorite  poet, — 

" '  Now,  if  thou  strik'st  him  but  one  blow,  I'll  hurl 
thee  from  the  brink  as  far  as  ever  peasant  pitched  a 
bar ! ' " 

This  strange  form  of  salutation  astonished  the  rebel 
even  more  than  the  rough  treatment  he  received  at 
the  hands  of  the  vigorous  and  poetical  Tucket.  He 
saw  that  it  was  no  time  to  stay  and  parley.  He  knew 
that  his  turkeys  were  going,  and,  muttering  a  parting 


128  THE   DRUMMER    BOY. 

malediction  at  Frank,  he  set  off  at  a  run  to  piotecl 
his  poultiy-yard. 

"Now's  our  time,"  said  Tucket,  starting  for  the  ren-, 
dezvous,  and  striking  into  another  quotation  from  his 
favorite  minstrel,  parodied  for  the  occasion.  " '  Speed, 
Manly,  speed  !  the  cow's  tough  hide  on  fleeter  foot 
was  never  tied.  Speed,  Manly,  speed  !  such  cause  of 
haste  a  drummer's  sinews  never  braced.  For  turkey's 
doom  and  rebel  deed  are  in  thy  course  —  speed,  Man- 
ly, speed ! ' " 

And  speed  they  did,  arriving  at  the  place  of  meet- 
ing just  as  their  comj^anions  came  up  with  the  poultry. 

« Hello,  Jack !  "  said  Frank ;  "  what's  the  matter 
with   you?" 

"He  stumbled  over  a  great  piece  of  bark,"  Ellis 
answered  for  Winch. 

«  Did  you,  Jack  ?  " 

"  Yes ! "  .  said  Jack,  putting  on  a  look  of  anguish. 
He  had  not  thought  of  the  bark  before,  but  supposing 
Ellis  had  seen  such  a  piece  as  he  spoke  of,  he  accepted 
his  theory  of  the  stumbling  as  readily  as  the  rebel  had 
recognized  in  Seth's  gobbling  one  of  his  own  lost  tur- 
keys.    "  And  broke  my  ankle,"  added  Jack. 

"  What  kind  of  bark  was  it  ?  do  you  know  ?  "  said 
EUis. 

"  No.     I  was  hurt  so  I  didn't  stop  to  look." 

"  W^IU  ."11  tell  you.     It  was  ilic  dog's  bark."     And 


THE  secessionist's  tukkeys.  129 

Ellis  and  his  comrades  shouted  with  laughter,  all 
except  poor  Jack  Winch,  who  knew  too  well  that  no 
other  kind  of  bark  had  checked  his  progress. 

Then  the  turkey-stealers  had  their  adventure  to 
relate,  and  Frank  had  his  amusing  story  to  tell,  and 
Tucket  could  brag  how  near  he  had  come  to  being 
shot  for  one  of  Buckley's  gobblers,  and  all  were  merry 
but  Jack,  who  had  brought  from  the  field  nothing 
but  a  counterfeit  lameness  and  dishonor,  and  who 
accordingly  lagged  behind  his  comrades,  sulky  and 
dumb. 

"  He  limps  dreadfully  —  when  any  body  is  looking 
at  him,"  said  Harris. 

"Nobody  killed,  and  only  one  wounded,"  said 
Frank. 

'  "The  sight  of  old  Buckley  coming  with  his  dog 
would  be  better  than  a  surgeon,  to  cure  that  wound," 
said  Tucket.  "  You'd  see  Winch  leg  it  faster  'n  any 
of  us  —  like  the  old  woman  that  had  the  hypo's,  and 
hadn't  walked  a  step  for  twenty  years,  and  thought 
she  couldn't ;  but  one  day  her  friends  got  up  a  ghost 
to  scare  her,  and  she  ran  a  mile  before  they  could 
ketch   her." 

Do  you  know  how  these  jokes,  and  the  laughter 
that  followed,  sounded  on  the  ear  of  Jack  Winch  ? 
Even  the  bark  of  the  rebel  mastifi"  was  music  in  com 
parison,  and  his  bite  would  have  hurt  him  less. 
9 


130  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Seth,  "  the  old  skinflint  will  be 
after  us,  sure  as  guns.  Hurry  !  or  we'll  hear  —  '  The 
deep-mouthed  bull-dog's  heavy  bay  resounding  up  the 
rocky  way,  and  faint,  from  farther  distance  borne,  the 
darned  old  rebel's  dinner  horn.'  Give  me  that  chick- 
en, Ellis.  And,  boys,  we  must  manage  some  way  to 
smuggle  these  Towls  into  camp.  I  can  carry  this 
chicken  under  my  coat ;  but  how  in  Sam  Hill  you'll 
manage  with   the  turkeys,  I    don't   see." 

"I  know,"  said  Frank,  always  full  of  invention. 
"  If  nobody  else  has  a  better  plan,  I've  thought  of  a 
good  one." 

Several  devices  were  suggested,  but  none  met  with 
general  approbation.     Then  Frank  explained  his. 

"  Cover  up  the  turkeys  with  evergreens,  and  we  will 
go  in  with  our  arms  full,  as  if  we  were  going  to  make 
wreaths  for  the  regiment." 

This  plan  was  agreed  ujDon,  and  shortly  after  the 
adventurers  might  have  been  seen  returning  to  camp 
loaded  down  with  boughs  and  vines.  Jack  alone  came 
in  empty-handed.  ,  Frank  had  no  turkey,  and  so  he 
thre^^  down  his  load  outside  the  tent,  where  any  one 
could  examine  it. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  owner  of  the  turkeys 
made  his  appearance,  carrying  to  headquarters  his 
complaint  of  the  robbery.  Unfortunately,  Frank  was 
not  only  known  as  a  drummer  boy,  but  he  wore  the 


THE    secessionist's    TURKEYS.  131 

letter  oi  uis  company  on  his  cap.  Besides,  his  youth 
rendered  his  identification  comparatively  easy.  A& 
might  have  been  expected,  therefore,  he  was  soon 
called  to  an  account.  Captain  Edney  himself  came 
to  investigate  tne  matter,  accompanied  by  the  seces 
sionist. 

"That's  the  boy,"  said  Buckley,  with  determined 
vindictiveness,  when  Frank  was  arraigned  before 
him. 

Frank  could  not  help  looking  a  little  pale,  for  he  felt 
that  he  was  in  a  bad  scrape,  and  how  he  was  to  get 
out  of  it,  without  either  lying  or  betraying  his  accom- 
plices, he  could  not  see.  He  did  not  care  so  much 
about  himself,  but  he  would  not  for  any  thing  have 
borne  witness  against  tlie  others.  He  had  almost 
made  up  his  mind  to  tell  a  sturdy  falsehood,  if 
necessary,  —  to  stoop  to  a  dishonorable  thing  in  order 
to  avoid  another,  which  he  considered  even  more  dam- 
aging to  his  character.  For  such  is  commonly  the  re- 
sult of  wrong-doing ;  one  step  taken,  you  must  take 
another  to  retrieve  that.  One  foot  in  the  mire,  you 
must  put   the   other  in  to  get  that  out. 

However,  the  drummer  boy  still  hoped  that  by 
putting  a  bold  face  on  the  matter,*  and  prevaii- 
cating  a  little,  he  might  still  keep  clear  of  that 
(liirig  he  had  been  taught  always  to  abhor  —  a  down- 
in  scht  untruth. 


132  THE  drum:m:er  boy. 

"  This  man  brings  serious  charges  against  you, 
Frank,"   said   Captain   Eclney. 

"I  should  think  it  was  for  me  to  bring  charges 
against  him,"  replied  Frank,  trying  to  look  indig- 
nant. 

"Why,  what  has  he  done  to  you?"  The  caj^tain 
could  not  help  smiling  as  he  spoke,  and  Frank  felt 
encouraged. 

"  He's  a  rebel  of  the  worst  kind.  He  is  always 
insulting  the  federal  uniform,  and  he  seems  to  think 
that  whoever  wears  it  is  a  villain.  He  threatened  to 
set  his  dog  on  me  the  other  day,  and  to-day  he  was 
going  to  knock  me  down  with  his  gun." 

"  What  was  he  going  to  knock  you  down  for  ?  You 
must  have  done  something  to  provoke  him." 

«  Yes,  I  did  !  "  said  Frank,  boldly.  "  I  went  to  his 
house,  and  asked  him,  in  the  politest  way  I  could,  if 
he  would  sell  us  fellows  a  turkey.  I  might  have 
known  that  it  would  provoke  him,  for  he  lias  been 
heard  to  say  he'd  rather  his  turkeys  should  die  in  the 
pen  than  that  a  Unioxi  soldier  should  have  one,  even 
for  money." 

It  was  evident  to  the  secessionist  that  instead  of 
making  out  a  case  against  the  boy,  the  boy  was  fast 
making  out  a  case  against  him.  In  his  impatience  he 
broke  forth  into  violent  denunciations  of  Frank,  but 
Captain  Edney  stopped  him. 


THE  secessionist's  tuekeys.  133 

"  None  of  that,  sir,  or  I'll  send  you  out  of  the  camp 
forthwith.  He  says,"  —  turning  to  Frank,  —  "  that 
you  decoyed  him  into  the  woods  while  your  com- 
panions  stole   his   turkeys." 

"Decoyed  him?"  said  Frank.  "He  may  call  it 
what  he  pleases.  I'll  tell  you  just  what  I  did,  sir. 
He  said  he  hadn't  any  turkeys.  So  I  said,  '  Then  the 
one  I  heard  in  the  woods,  as  I  came  along,  isn't  yours 
—  is  it?'" 

"  Had  you  heard  one  ?  " 

"  I  had  heard  a  noise  so  much  like  one,"  —  laughing,* 
—-"that  he  himself,  when  he  heard  it,  was  ready  to 
swear  it  was  his  gobbler." 

"  And  was  it  really  a  turkey  ?  " 

"No,  sir.  It  was  Seth  Tucket  hid  behind  the 
bushes." 

Frank  was  now  conscious  of  making  abundant  fun 
for  his  comrades,  who  all  crowded  around,  listening 
with  delight  to  the  investigation.  Even  Captain 
Edney  smiled,  as  he  gave  a  glance  at  the  green- 
looking,  seriously-winking  Seth. 

"So  it  was  you  that  played  the  gobbler.  Tucket," 
said  the  captain. 

"I  hope  there  wan't  no  great  harm  in't  ef  I 
did,  sir,"  replied  Seth,  with  ludicrous  mock  solemnity. 
"  Bein'  Christmas  so,  I  thought  I'd  like  a  little  bit  ot 
turkey,  sir,  ef  'twant  no  more  than  the  gobble.     And 


134  THE    DEUMMER   BOY. 

there  I  was,  enjoying  it  all  by  myself,  hevin'  a  nice 
time,  when  this  man  comes  up  and  lays  claim  to  me 
for  his  tm'key." 

This  sober  declaration,  uttered  in  a  high  key,  witli 
certain  jerks  of  the  arms  and  twists  of  the  down-east 
features,  which  Seth  could  use  with  the  drollest  effect, 
excited  unrestrained  mirth  among  the  men,  and  made 
the  officer's  sword-belts  shake  not  a  little  with  the 
suj^pressed   merriment   inside. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  his  claiming  you  ?  "  asked 
» the  captain. 

"  He  told  Manly  I  belonged  to  him,  and  that  some 
thieving  Yankee  had  stolen  me,"  said  Seth,  with  open 
eyes  and  mouth,  as  if  he  had  been  making  the  most 
earnest  statement.  "  Now  I'll  leave  it  to  any  body  ef 
that's  so.  And  I  guess  that's  about  all  his  complaints 
of  hevin'  turkeys  stole  amounts  to ;  for  ef  he  can 
make  a  mistake  so  easy  in  my  case,  he  may  in  others. 
Though  mabby  he  means  I  stole  the  gobble  of  one  of 
his  turkeys.  I  own  it's  a  gobble  I  picked  up  some- 
wheres,  but  I  didn't  know  'twas  his."  And  Tucket 
drew  down  his  face  with  an  expression  of  incorrupti 
ble  innocence. 

"  Well,  boys,"  said  the  captain,  silencing  the  laugh- 
ter, "  we  have  had  fun  enough  for  the  occasion,  though 
it  is  a  merry  Christmas.  No  more  buffoonery.  Tucket. 
Were  you  aware,  Frank,  tliat  it  was  Tucket,  and  not  a 


135 

turkey,  in  the  bushes,  when  you  took  this  man  to  the 
woods  ?  " 

"I  rather  thought  it  was  Tucket,"  said  Frank, 
"  though  the  man  stuck  to  it  so  stoutly  that  'twas 
his   gobbler,   I   didn't   know   but " 

"  ISTever  mind  about  that."  The  captain  saw  that  it 
was  Frank's  object  to  lead  the  inquiry  back  to  the 
ludicrous  j^art  of  the  business,  and  promptly  checked 
him.     "  What  was  your  motive  in  deceiving  him  ?  " 

"  To  have  a  little  fun,  sir." 

"Did  you  not  know  that  there  was  a  design  to  rob 
his  poultry  pen  ?  " 

Frank  recollected  his  momentary  doubts  as  to  the 
good  faith  of  his  companions,  when  the  dog  assailed 
him,  and  thought  he  could  make  that  uncertainty  the 
base  of  a  strong  "  No,  sir." 

"  But  you  know  his  pen  was  robbed  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  I  do  not  know  it  — ,"  Frank  reflecting 
as  he  spoke,  that  a  man  cannot  really  hnoio  any  thing 
of  which  he  has  not  been  an  eye-witness,  and  comfort- 
ing his  conscience  with  the  fact  that  he  had  not  seen 
the  turkeys  stolen. 

"  Now,"  —  Captain  Edney  did  not  betray  by  look 
or  word  whether  he  believed  or  doubted  the  boy's 
assertion,  —  "  t(3ll  me  who  was  with  you  in  the  woods.** 

«  Seth  Tucket,  sir." 

"  Who  else  ?  " 


136  THE    DEUMMER    BOY. 

"  O,  ever  so  many  fellows  had  been  with  me." 

"  Xame  them." 

And  Frank  proceeded  to  name  several  who  had 
really  been  with  him  that  morning,  but  not  on  the 
forage  after  poultry.  On  being  called  up  and  ques- 
tioned, they  were  able  to  giA^e  the  most  positive 
testimony,  to  the  effect  that  they  had  neither  stolen 
any  fowls  themselves  nor  been  with  any  party  that 
had.  In  the  mean  time  the  sergeant  and  second 
lieutenant  instituted  a  search  through  the  company's 
tents,  and  succeeded  in  finding  a  solitary  turkey, 
which  nobody  could  give  any  account  of,  and  which 
nobody  claimed.  This  the  secessionist  identified ; 
averring  that  there  were  also  a  dozen  more,  besides 
several  chickens,  for  which  redress  was  due.  But  not 
one  of  them  could  be  discovered,  perhaps  because 
they  were  so  skilfully  concealed,  but  more  probably 
because  those  who  searched  were  not  anxious  to  find. 

Captain  Edney  accordingly  paid  the  man  for  the 
loss  of  the  single  turkey,  which  he  ordered  sent  imme- 
diately to  the  hospital.  He  also  told  the  secessionist 
that  he  would  pay  him  for  all  the  poultry  he  was 
ready  to  swear  had  been  appropriated  by  the  men  of 
his  company,  provided  he  would  first  take  the  oath  of 
allegiance  to  the  United  States.  This  Buckley  sul- 
lenly refused  to  do,  and  he  was  immediately  con- 
ducted by  a  guard  outside  the  lines.     Setli   Tucket 


THE  secessionist's  tukkeys.  137 

Followed  at  a  short  distance,  saying,  as  he  put  his  hand 
in  his  pocket,  as  if  to  produce  some  money,  "  Say, 
friend !  better  le'  me  pay  ye  for  that  gobble  I  stole. 
Any  thing  in  reason,  ye  know." 

But  Buckley  gave  him  ohly  a  glance  of  compressed 
rage,  and  marched  off  in  sileiice,  mth  disappointment 
and  revenge  ii  his  heart. 


xin. 

THE  EXPEDITION  MOVES. 

Feank  won  the  greatest  credit  from  his  com. 
rades  by  the  manner  in  which  he  had  gone  through 
the  investigation.  And  the  fowls,  which  those  who 
searched  could  not  discover,  found  their  way  some- 
ho,w  to  the  cooks,  and  back  again  to  the  boys,  and 
were  shared  among  their  companions,  who  had  a 
feast  and  a  good  time  generally. 

But  when  all  was  over,  and  the  excitement  which 
carried  Frank  through  had  subsided,  and  it  was  night, 
and  he  lay  in  the  darkness  and  solitude  of  the  tent, 
with  his  comrades  asleep  around  him,  —  then  came 
sober  reflection;  and  he  thought  of  the  poor  man 
who  had  lost  his  turkeys,  and  who,  for  one,  had  got 
no  fun  out  of  the  business ;  and  he  remembered  that 
he  had,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  lied  to  Caj^tain 
Edney;  and  he  knew  in  his  heart  that  he  had  done 
a  dishonest  thing. 

Yes,  he  had  actually  been  engaged  in  stealing  tur- 
keys.    He  was  guilty  of  an  act  of  which,  a  few  weeks 

(138) 


THE    EXPEDITION   MOVES.  139 

before,  he  would  have  deemed  himself  absohitely  in- 
capable. All  the  mitigating  circumstances  of  the  case, 
which  had  lately  stood  out  so  clear  and  strong  as 
almost  to  hide  the  offence  from  his  moral  vision,  now 
faded,  and  shrunk  away,  and  the  wrong  itself  stood 
forth,  alone,  in  its  undisguised  ughness. 

"What  is  it  to  me  that  the  man  is  a  secessionist? 
That  doesn't  give  us  the  right  to  rob  him.  He  is  not 
in  arms  against  the  government ;  and  we  don't  know 
that  he  assists  the  rebels  in  any  way,  either  by  giving 
them  information  or  money.  Perhaps  he  had  good 
reason  to  hate  the  Union  soldiers.  If  he  had  not  be- 
fore, he  has  now.     I  wish  I  had  let  his  turkeys  alone." 

These  words  Frank  did  not  exactly  fi'ame  to  him- 
self, lying  there  in  the  dark  and  silent  tent;  but  so 
said  the  soul  within  him.  And  the  next  day  the  cul- 
pability of  his  conduct  was  brought  home  still  more 
forcibly  to  his  conscience  by  the  receipt  of  a  box  fi-om 
home.  It  contained,  besides  a  turkey,  pies,  cakes, 
apples,  and  letters.  And  in  one  of  the  letters  his 
mother  wrote, — 

"I  hope  these  things  will  reach  you  by  Christmas, 
and  that  you  will  enjoy  them,  and  share  them  with 
tliose  who  have  been  good  to  you,  and  be  very  hapj^y. 
We  all  think  of  the  hardships  you  have  to  go  through, 
and  would  willingly  give  up  many  of  our  comforts 
if  you   could    only  have   them.     We   shall   not  have 


140  ,  THE    DRUMiLER    BOY. 

any  turkey  at  Christmas  —  we  shall  all  bo  so  much 
happier  to  think  you  have  one.  For  I  would  not  have 
you  so  much  as  temjjted  to  do  what  you  say  some  of 
the  soldiers  have  done  —  that  is,  steal  the  turkeys 
belonging  to  the  secessionists.  If  there  are  rebels  at 
heart,  not  yet  in  open  opposition  to  the  government, 
I  would  have  you  treat  them  kindly,  and  not  provoke 
them  to  hate  our  cause  worse  than  they  do  already. 
And  always  remember  that,  whatever  the  government 
may  see  fit  to  do  to  punish  such  men,  you  have  no 
right  to  interfere  with  either  their  private  opinions  or 
their  private  property." 

Why  was  it  that  the  contents  of  Frank's  Christmas 
box  did  not  taste  so  good  to  him  as  he  had  antici- 
pated? Simply  because  he  could  partake  of  neither 
pie  nor  turkey  without  the  sorry  sauce  of  a  reproving 
conscience.  • 

He  thought  to  atone  for  his  fault  by  magnanimity 
in  sharing  with  others  what  he  could  not  relish  alone. 
He  gave  liberally  to  all  his  mates,  and  carried  a  large 
piece  of  the  turkey,  together  with  a  generous  supply 
of  stuffing,  and  an  entire  mince  pie,  to  his  old  friend. 
Sinjin. 

Now,  Frank  had  not,  for  the  past  month,  been  on 
as  good  terms  with  the  veteran  as  formerly.  The 
meeting  with  Mrs.  Manly  in  Boston  seemed  to  have 
awakened  unpleasant  remembrances  in  the  old  drum- 


THE    EXPEDITION    MOVES.  141 

raer's  mind,  and  to  render  him  unpleasan  ly  stiff  and 
cold  towards  her  son.  He  had  received  the  thanks- 
giving wreath  with  a  very  formal  and  stately  ac- 
knowledgment, and  Frank,  who  knew  not  what  warm 
toiTents  might  be  gushing  beneath  the  stern  old  man's 
icy  exterior,  had  kept  himself  somewhat  resentfully 
aloof  fi'om  him  ever  since.  But  he  still  felt  a  yearn- 
ing for  their  former  friendship,  and  he  now  hoj^ed, 
with  the  aid  of  the  good  gifts  of  which  he  was  the 
bearer,  to  make  up  with  him. 

"I  wish  you  a  merry  Christmas,"  said  Frank,  ar. 
rived  at  the  old  man's  tent. 

"You  are  rather  late  for  that,  it  seems  to  me," 
replied  Sinjin,  lifting  his  brows,  as  he  sat  in  his  tent 
and  looked  quietly  over  his  shoulder  at  the  visitor. 

"I  know  it,"  said  Frank.  "But  the  truth  is,  1 
hadn't  any  thing  to  wish  you  a  merry  Christmas  with 
yesterday.  But  this  morning  I  got  a  box  by  express, 
full  of  goodies,  direct  from  home." 

"Ah ! "  said  the  old  man,  with  a  singular  unsteadi- 
ness of  eye,  while  he  tried  to  look  cold  and  uncon- 
cerned. 

"  Yes ;   isn't  it   grand  ?     A  turkey  of  my  mother's 

own  stuffing,  and  pies  of  her  own  baking,  and  every 

thing  that's  splendid.     And  •  she  said  she  hoped  you 

would  accept   a   share^  with   her  very  kind  regards. 

3  And  so  I've  brought  you  some." 


142  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

The  old  man  had  got  up  on  his  feet.  But  he  did 
not  offer  to  relieve  Frank's  hands.  He  made  no  re- 
ply to  his  little  speech  ;  and  he  seemed  not  so  much 
to  look  at  him,  as  through  him,  into  some  visionary 
past  far  away.  Perhaps  it  was  not  the  drummer  boy 
he  saw  at  all,  but  fairer  features,  still  like  his  —  a 
sweet  young  girl ;  the  same  he  used  to  trot  upon  his 
knees,  in  those  unforgotten  years,  so  long  ago,  when 
he  was  in  his  manhood's  prime,  and  life  was  still  fresh 
to  him,  and  he  had  not  lost  his  early  faith  in  friend- 
ship and  love. 

There  Frank  stood,  holding  the  cover  of  the  Christ- 
mas box,  with  the  good  things  from  home  upon  it,  and 
waited,  and  wondered ;  and  there  the  old  man  stood 
and  dreamed. 

"Please,  sir,  will  you  let  me  leave  them  here?" 
said  Frank,  ready  to  cry  with  disappointment  at  this 
strange  reception. 

The  old  man  heaved  a  sigh,  brushed  his  hand 
across  his  eyes,  and  came  back  to  the  present.  He 
stooped  and  took  the  gift  with  a  tremulous  smile,  but 
without  a  word.  He  did  not  tell  the  drummer  boy 
that  he  had,  in  that  instant  of  forgetfulness,  seen  his 
mother  as  she  was  at  his  age,  and  that  his  old  heart 
now,  though  seemingly  withered  and  embittered, 
gushed  again  with  love  so  sorrowful  and  yearning, 
that  he  could  have  taken  her  son  in  his  arms,  even  as 


THE    EXPEDITION    MOVES.  143 

he  had  so  often  taken  her,  and  have  wept  over  bim. 
And  Frank,  in  his  ignorance^  went  away,  feeling  more 
hurt  than  ever  at  his  old.  friend's  apparent  indif- 
ference. 

And  now  matters  were  assuming  a  more  and  more 
warlike  appearance.  For  some  time  Frank's  regiment 
had  been  out  on  brigade  drill  twice  a  week,  and  he  had 
wi'itten  home  a  giovvdng  description  of  the  scene.  But 
an  incomparably  grander  sight  was  the  inspection  and 
review  of  the  entire  division,  which  took  place  the 
last  week  of  December.  The  parade  gi'ound,  com- 
prising two  thousand  acres,  at  once  smooth  and  undu- 
lating, was  admirably  fitted  to  show  off,  with  pictur 
esque  and  splendid  effect,  the  evolutions  of  regi 
ment,  brigade,  and  division.  Thousands  of  spectators 
flocked  from  Annapolis  and  the  vicinity,  in  vehicles, 
on  horseback,  and«©n  foot,  to  witness  the  display. 

Frank  was  with  his  company,  carrying  his  knapsack, 
haversack,  tin  cup,  and  canteen,  like  the  rest,  and  with 
his  drum  at  his  side.  He  could  not  but  feel  a  pride  in 
the  grand  spectacle  of  which  he  formed  a  part.  At 
eleven  o'clock,  Brigadier-General  Foster,  commanding 
the  department  in  Burnside's  absence,  passed  down 
the  line,  accompanied  by  a  numerous  staff,  and  fol- 
lowed by  the  governor  of  the  state  and  members 
of  the  legislature.     They  inspected  each  regiment  in 


144  THE    DRUMJUEE    BOY. 

turn  ;  and  many  were  the  looks  of  interest  and  pleased 
surprise  which  the  young  drummer  boy  received  fi-om 
officers  and  civilians. 

The  reviewing  party  then  took  its  position  on  the 
right,  the  words  of  command  rang  along  the  line,  and 
regiment  after  regiment,  breaking  into'  battahon  col- 
umn, filed,  with  steady  tramp,  in  superb,  glittering 
array,  to  the  sound  of  music,  past  the  general  and  his 
assistants.  No  wonder  the  drummer  boy's  heart  beat 
high  with  military  enthusiasm,  as  he  marched^ with  his 
comrades  in  this  magnificent  style,  marvelling  what 
enemy  could  withstand  such  disciplined  masses  of 
troops. 

And  now  the  fleet  of  transports,  which  were  to  con- 
vey them  to  their  destination,  were  gathering  at  An- 
napolis. The  camp  was  full  of  rumors  respecting  the 
blow  which  was  to  be  struck,  and  the  troops  were 
eager  to  strike  it. 

So  ended  the  old  year,  the  first  of  the  war;  and  the 
new  year  came  in.    It  was  now  January,  1862. 

On  the  3d,  the  regiment  was  for  the  first  time  paid 
off.  Frank  received  pay  for  two  months'  service,  at 
twelve  dollars  a  month.  He  kept  only  four  dollars  for 
his  own  use,  and  sent  home  the  remaining  twenty  dol- 
lars in  a  check,  to  be  drawn  by  his  father  in  Boston. 
It  was  a  source  of  great  pride  and  satisfaction  to  him 
that  he  could  send  money  to  his  parents ;  and  he  won- 


THE    EXPEDITION    MOTES.  145 

dered  at  the  greedy  selfishness  of  John  Winch,  who 
immediately  commenced  sj^euding  his  pay  for  pies  and 
cakes,  at  the  sutler's  enormous  prices. 

On  the  6th,  the  regiment  broke  camp  and  marched 
to  Annapolis.  There  was  snow  on  the  ground,  which 
had  fallen  the  night  before ;  and  the  weather  was 
very  cold.  The  city  was  a  scene  of  busy  activity. 
The  lleet  lay  in -the  harbor.  Troops  and  baggage 
trains  crowded  to  the  Avharves.  Transport  after  trans- 
port took  on  board  its  precious  fi-eight  of  lives,  and 
hauling  out  into  the  stream  to  make  room  for  others, 
dropped  anchor  off  the  town. 

After  waiting  five  hours  —  five  long  and  dreary 
hours  —  at  the  ISTaval  Academy,  our  regiment  took  its 
turn.  One  half  went  on  board  an  armed  steamer, 
wh«se  decks  were  soon  swarming  with  soldiers  and 
bristling  with  guns.  The  other  half  took  passage  in  a 
schooner.  And  the  steamer  took  the  schooner  in  tow, 
and  anchored  with  her  in  the  river.  And  so  Frank 
and-  his  c  )mrades  bade  farewell  to  the  soil  of  Mary- 
land. " 

The  excitement  of  these  scenes  had  served  to  put 
Frank's  conscience  to  sleep  again.  However,  it  re- 
ceived a  sting,  when,  on  the  day  of  leaving  Annapolis, 
he  learned  that  the  secessionist  whose  turkeys  had 
been  stolen,  had,  in  revenge  for  his  wrongs,  quitted  hia 
farm,  and  gone  to  join  the  rebel  army. 
10 


XIV. 

THE   VOYAGE   AND   THE   STORM. 

On  the  morning  of  the  9th  of  Januaiy  the  fleet 
sailed. 

Frank  was  on  board  the  schooner  towed  out  by  her 
Bteam  consort. 

Although  the  morning  was  cold  and  wet,  the  decks 
of  the  transports  were  crowded  with  troops  witness- 
ing the  magnificent  spectacle  of  their  own  de- 
parture. 

Just  before  they  got  under  way,  a  jubilant  cheering 
was  heard.  Frank  made  his  way  to  the  vessel's  side, 
to  see  what  was  going  on.  A  small  row-boat  passed, 
conveying  some  officer  of  distinction  to  his  shi}). 
Frank  observed  that  he  was  a  person  of  quiti)  un- 
pretending appearance,  but  of  pleasant  and  noble 
features. 

"  Bumside  !  Bumside  !  Bumside  !  "  shouted  a  hun- 
dred voices. 

And  In  acknowledgment  of  the  compliment,  the 
modest  hero  of  the  expedition  stood  up  in  the  boat, 

(146) 


THE  VOYAGE  AND  THE  STORM.         147 

and  uncovered  his  high,  bald  foreliead  and  dome-like 
head. 

The  rowers  pulled  at  their  oars,  and  the  boat 
dashed  on  over  the  dancing  waters,  greeted  with  like 
enthusiasm  every  where,  until  the  general's  flag-ship, 
the  little  steamer  Picket,  took  him  on  board. 

And  now  the  anchors  v/ere  up,  the  smoke-pipes 
trailed  their  cloudy  streamers  on  the  breeze,  flags  and 
pennants  were  flying,  paddle-wheels  began  to  turn 
and  plash,  the  bands  played  gay  music,  and  the  fleet 
drew  oflT,  in  a  long  line  of  countless  steamers  and  sail- 
ing vessels,  down  the  Severn,  and  down  the  Chesa- 
peake. 

All  day,  through  a  cold,  drizzling  rain,  the  fleet 
sailed  on,  the  transports  still  keeping  in  sight  of  each 
other,  in  a  line  extending  for  miles  along  the  bleak, 
inhospitable  bay. 

The  next  morning,  Frank  went  on  deck,  and  found 
the  schooner  at  anchor  in  a  fog.  The  steamer  lay 
alongside.  No  other  object  was  ^dsible  —  only  the 
restlessly-dashing  waters.  The  wild  shrieking  of  the 
steamer's  whistle,  blowing  in  the  fog  to  warn  other 
vessels  of  the  fleet  to  avoid  running  down  upon  them, 
the  near  and  far  responses  of  similarly  screaming 
whistles,  and  of  invisible  tolling  bells,  added  impres- 
siveness  to  the  situation. 

At  nine  o'clock,  anchors  were  weighed  again,  and 


148  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

the  fleet  proceeded  slowly,  feeling  its  way,  as  it  were, 
in  the  obscurity.  There  Avas  more  or  less  fog  through- 
out the  day;  but  towards  sundown  a  breeze  blew 
from  the  shore,  the  fog  rolled  back  upon  the  sea,  the 
clouds  broke  into  wild  flying  masses,  the  blue  sky 
shone  through,  and  the  sunset  poured  its  placid  glory 
upon  the  scene. 

Again  the  troops  crowded  the  decks.  The  fleet  was 
entering  Hampton  Roads.  Upon  the  right,  basking 
in  the  golden  sunset  as  in  the  light  of  an  eternal  calm, 
a  stupendous  fortress  lay,  like  some  vast  monster  of 
old  time,  asleep.  Frank  shivered  with  strange  sensa- 
tions  as  he  gazed  upon  that  immense  and  powerful 
stronghold  of  force ;  trying  to  realize  that,  dreaming 
so  quietly  there  in  the  sunset,  those  gilded  walls, 
which  seemed  those  of  an  ancient  city  of  peace,  meant 
horrible,  deadly  war. 

'"  By  hooky  !  "  said  Seth  Tucket,  coming  to  his  side, 
"  that  old  Fortress  Monroe's  a  stunner  —  ain't  she  ? 
I'd  no  idee  the  old  woman  spread  her  hoop  skirts  over 
so  much  ground." 

"You  can  see  the  big  Unioti  gun  there  on  the 
beach,"  said  Atwater.  "  To  look  at  that,  then  just 
turn  your  eye  over  to  Sewell's  Point  there,  where  the 
rebel  batteiies  are,  makes  it  seem  like  war."  And  the 
tall,  grave  soldier  smiled,  with  a  light  in  his  eye  Frank 
had  seldom  seen  before. 


THE  VOYAGE  AND  THE  STOEM.  149 

The  evening  was  fine,  the  sky  clear,  the  moon 
shining,  the  air  balmy  ^.nd  spring-like.  The  fleet  had 
come  to  anchor  in  the  Roads.  The  bands  were 
playing,  and  the  troops  cheering  from  deck  to  deck. 
The  moonlight  glittered  on  the  water,  and  whitened 
tlie  dim  ships  riding  at  anchor,  and  lay  mistily  upon 
the  bastions  of  the  gTcat  slumbering  fortress.  At  a 
late  hour,  Frank,  with  his  eyes  full  of  beauty  and  his 
ears  full  of  music,  went  below,  crept  into  his  birth, 
and  thought  of  home,  and  of  the  great  world  he  was 
beginning  to  see,  until  he  fell  asleep. 

The  next  day  the  fleet  still  lay  in  Hampton  Roads. 
There  were  belonging  to  the  expedition  over  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  vessels  of  all  classes,  freighted 
with  troops,  horses,  forage,  and  all  the  parapliernalia 
of  war.  And  this  was  the  last  morning  which  was  to 
behold  that  magnificent  and  powerful  armada  entire 
and  unscattered. 

At  night  the  fleet  sailed.  Once  at  sea,  the  sealed 
orders,  by  which  each  vessel  was  to  shape  its  course, 
were  opened,  and  Hatteras  Inlet  was  found  to  be  its 
first  destination. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  January  12.  The 
morning  was  densely  foggy.  Frank,  who  had  been 
seasick  all  night,  went  on  deck  to  breathe  the  fresh  sea 
au*.  The  steamer,  still  towing  the  schooner,  was  just 
visible  in  the  fog,  at  the  other  end  of  the  great  sag- 


150  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

ging  hawser.  And  the  sea  was  rolling,  veiling,  roll- 
ing. And  the  ship  was  tossing,  tossing,  tossing.  And 
Frank's  poor  stomach,  not  satisfied  with  ltd  convulsive 
eJBTorts  to  turn  him  wrong  side  out  tlie  night  before, 
recommenced  heaving,  heaving,  heaving.  He  clung 
to  the  rail  of  the  schooner,  and  every  time  it  went 
down,  and  every  time  it  came  up,  he  seemed  to  grow 
dizzier  and  sicker  than  ever.  He  consoled  himself  by 
reflecting  that  he  was  only  one  of  hundreds  on  board, 
who  were,  or  had  been,  in  the  same  condition;  and 
when  he  Avas  sickest  he  could  not  help  laughing  at 
Seth  Tucket's  inexhaustible  drollery. 

"Well,  try  again,  ef  ye  want  to,"  said  that  poet- 
ical private,  addressing  his  stomach.  "Be  mean,  and 
stick  to  it.     Keep  heaving,  and  be  darned ! " 

Stomach  took  him  at  his  word,  and  for  a  few  min- 
utes he  leaned  heavily  by  Frank's  side. 

"  There ! "  he  said  to  it,  triumphantly,  "  ye  couldn't 
do  any  thing,  and  I  told  ye  so.  Now  I  hope  ye'll 
keep  quiet  a  minute.  Ye  won't  ?  Going  at  it  again  ? 
Very  well ;  dc  as  you  please ;  it's  none  o'  my  busi- 
ness—  by  gosh!"  —  lifting  up  his  head  with  a  bitter 
grin;  "that  inside  of  me  is  like  Milton's  chaos,  in 
Paradise  Lost.  '  Up  from  the  bottom  turned  by 
raging  wind  and  furious  assault ! '  —  Here  it  goes 
again  ! " 

Frank  had  been  scarcely  less  amused  by  the  misery 


THE    VOYAGE    AND    1  HE    STORM.  151 

of  Jack  Winch,  who  declared  repeatedly  tlat  he 
should  die,  that  he  wished  he  was  dead,  and  so  forth, 
with  groanings  unutterable. 

But  Frank  kept  up  his  courage,  and  after  eating  a 
piece  of  hard  bread  for  breakfast,  began  to  feel  better. 

Towards  noon  the  fog  blew  off,  and  the  beach  was 
visible  on  the  right,  —  long,  low,  desolate,  a  shore  of 
interminable  sand,  over  which  the  breakers  leaped  and 
ran  like  hordes  of  wild  horses  with  streaming  tails  and 
manes.  IN'ot  a  sign  of  vegetation  was  to  be  seen  on 
that  barren  coast,  nor  any  trace  of  human  existence, 
save  here  a  lonely  house  on  the  ridge,  and  yonder  a 
dismantled  ^wreck  careened  high  upon  the  beach,  or 
the  ribs  of  some  half-buried  hulk  protruding  from  the 
sand. 

On  the  other  side  was  an  unbroken  horizon  of 
water.  Numerous  vessels  of  the  fleet  were  still  in 
sight.  And  now  a  little  steamer  came  dashing  gayly 
along,  hailed  with  cheers.  It  was  the  Picket,  General 
Burnside's  flag-ship. 

In  the  afternoon,  more  fog.  But  at  sunset  it  was 
clear.  The  wind  was  light,  blowing  from  the  south. 
But  now  the  ocean  rolled  in  long,  enormous  swells, 
showing  that  the  vessels  were  approaching  Cape  Hat- 
teras;  for,  whatever  may  be  the  aspect  of  the  sea 
elsewhere,  here  its  billows  are  never  at  rest. 

So  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  night  came  on,  with 


152  THE    DRCTMMER    BOY. 

its  cold  moon  and  stars,  and  Hatteras  liglithouse  shot 
its  arrowy  ray  far  out  across  the  dark  water. 

The  breeze  freshened  and  increased  to  a  gale ;  and 
the  violence  of  the  waves  increased  with  it,  until  tht 
schooner  creaked  and  groaned  in  every  part,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  she  must  break  in  jDieces.  Sometimes 
the  billows  burst  upon  the  deck  with  a  thunder-crash, 
and,  sweeping  over  it,  poured  in  cataracts  from  her 
sides.  Now  a  heavy  cross-sea  struck  her  beams  with 
the  jarring  force  of  an  avalanche  of  rocks,  flinging 
more  than  one  unlucky  fellow  clear  from  his  berth. 
And  now  her  bows  went  under,  sunk  by  a  weight  of 
rolling  water,  from  which  it  seemed  for  an  instant  im- 
possible that  she  could  ever  emerge.  But  rise  she  did, 
each  time,  slowly,,  laboring,  quivering,  and  groaning, 
like  a  Uving  thing  in  mortal  agony.  Once,  as  she 
plunged,  the  great  cable  that  united  her  fortunes  with 
those  of  the  steamer,  unable  to  bear  the  tremendous 
strain,  snapped  like  a  wet  string ;  and  immediately  she 
fell  off  helplessly  before  the  gale. 

The  troops  had  a  terrible  night  of  it.  Many,  were 
deathly  sick.  Two  or  three  broke  their  watches,  be- 
sides getting  badly  bruised,  by  pitching  from  their 
bunks.  Frank  would  not  have  dared  to  go  to  sleep, 
even  if  he  could.  Once,  when  the  ship  gave  a  lurch, 
and  stopped  suddenly,  striking  the  shoulder  of  a  wave, 
be  heard  somebody  tumble. 


THE    VOYAGE    AXD    THE    STORM.  153 

«  Who's  that  ?  "  he  asked. 

And  the  nasal  sing-song  of  the  poetical  Tucket 
answered,  "'Awaking  with  a  start,  the  waters  heave 
around  me,  and  on  high  the  winds  lift  up  their 
voices ;  I  depart,  whither  I  know  not ;  but  the  hour's 
gone  by  when  Boston's  lessening  shores  can  grieve  or 
glad  mine  eye.' " 

And  Tucket  crept  back  into  his  bunk. 

"  We're  all  going  to '  the  bottom,  I'm  sure,"  whined 
John  Winch,  from  the  top  berth,  over  Frank.  "I 
believe  we're  sinking  now." 

"  Well,"  said  Frank,  "  the  water  will  reach  me  first, 
and  you'll  be  one  of  the  last  to  go  under ;  you've  that 
for  a  satisfaction." 

"  I  believe  that's  what  he  chose  the  top  berth  for," 
said  Harris. 

"How  can  you  be  joking,  such  a  time  as  this?"  said 
John.  "Here's  At  water,  fast  asleep!  Are  you,  At- 
water?" 

"ISTo,"  said  the  soldier,  who  lay  sick,  with  his 
thoughts   far   away. 

"  Ellis  is ;  ain't  you,  Ellis  ?  "  And  Jack  reached  to 
shake  his  comrade.  "How  can  you  be  asleep,  Ned, 
when  we're  all  going  to  the  bottom?" 

"  Let  me  alone  !  'L  growled  Ned. 

"We  are  going  to  the  bottom,"  said  Jack, —  the 
ship  just  then  rolhng  in  the  trough  of  the  sea. 


154  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  I  can't  help  it  if  we  are,"  replied  Ellis,  sick  and 
stupefied ;  "  and  I  don't  care  much.  Let  me  go  to  the 
bottom  in  peace." 

"  O  Lord  !  O  Lord !  O  Lord  ! "  moaned  Jack,  m  de- 
spair, feeling  mpre  like  praying  than  ever  before  in 
his  life. 

Tucket  had  a  line  of  poetry  to  suit  his  casQ :  — 

"'And  then  some  prayed  —  the  first  time  in  some 
years;'"  he  said,  quoting  Byron.  And  he  proceeded 
with  a  description  of  a  shipwreck,  which  was  not  very 
edifying  to  the  unhappy  Winch :  " '  Then  rose  from 
sea  to  sky  the  wild  farewell,' "  &c. 

"  I  never  would'  have  enlisted  if  I  was  such  a  cow- 
ard as  Jack,"  said  Hams,  contemptuously. 

"  I  ain't  a  coward,"  retorted  Jack.  "  I  enlisted  to 
fight,  not  to  go  to  sea  and  be  drownded." 

«  Drownded  —  ded  —  ded  —  dead  !  "  said  Tucket. 

"O,  yes,"  said  Harris,  "you  are  mighty  fierce  for 
getting  ashore  and  fighting.  But  when  you  were  on 
land  you  were  just  as  glad  to  get  to  sea.  Now  I  hope 
you'll  get  enough  of  it.  I  wouldn't  mind  a  shipwreck 
myself,  just  to  hear  you  scroam." 

Then  Tucket:  "'At  first  one  universal  shriek  there 
rushed,  louder  than  the  loud  ocean,  —  like  a  crash  of 
echoing  thunder;  and  then  all  was  hushed,  s'ave  the 
wild  wind,  and  the  remorseless  dash  of  billows ;  but 
at  intervals   there  gushed,  accompanied   with  a  con- 


THE  VOYAGE  AND  THE  STORM.         1 1)5 

vulsive  splash,  a  solitary  shriek  —  the  bubbling  cry  of 
private  Winch,  in  his  last  agony  ! '  " 

After  this,  conversation  ceased  for  a  time,  and  there 
was  no  noise  but  of  the  storm,  and  the  groanings  of 
the  ship  and  of  the  sick. 

Frank  could  not  sleep,  but,  clinging  to  his  berth, 
and  listening  to'  the  shock  of  billows,  thought  of -the 
other  vessels  of  that  brave  fleet,  scattered  and  tossed, 
and  wondered  at  the  awful  power  of  the  sea. 

Then  he  remembered  the  story  Corporal  Gray  had 
that  day  told  them  of  the  great  Spanish  Armada, 
which  sailed  in  the  days  of  Queen  Elizabeth  to  invade 
England,  and  was  blown  to  its  destruction  by  the 
storms  of  the  Almighty;  and  he  questioned  within 
himself  whether  this  proud  expedition  was  destined 
for  a  similar  fate.  Already  he  seemed  to  hear  the 
lamentations  of  those  at  home,  and  the  frantic  re- 
joicings of  the  rebels. 

The  next  morning  the  wind  lulled ;  but  the  sea  still 
ran  high.  The  sun  rose  upon  a  scene  of  awful  gran- 
deur. The  schooner  was  sailing  under  the  few  rags 
of  canvas  which  had  withstood  the  gale.  The  steamer 
was  nowhere  in  sight ;  but  other  vessels  of  the  shattered 
fleet  could  be  seen,  some  near,  and  some  half  below 
the  horizon,  flir  out  at  sea.  The  waves,  white-c.tpped, 
green-streaked,  ceaselessly  shifting,  with  dark  blue 
hollows  and  high-curved  crests  all  bursting  into  foam. 


156  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

came  chasing  each  other,  and  passed  on  like  sliding 
liquid  hills,  spurning  the  schooner  from  their  slippery- 
backs. 

" '  Roll  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  ocean !  roll !  ten 
thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain ! ' "  observed 
Tucket,  coming  on  deck  with  Frank,  and  gazing 
around  at  the  few  tossed  remnants  of  the  storm- 
scattered  expedition. 

Wild  and  terribly  beautiful  the  scene  was;  and 
Frank,  who  had  often  wished  to  behold  the  ocean  in  its 
fury,  was  now  sufliciently  recovered  from  his  sickness 
to  enjoy  the  opportunity.  Nor  was  the  wondering 
delight  with  which  he  saw  the  sun  rise  out  of  the 
deep,  and  shine  across  the  tumbling  yeasty  waves,  at 
all  diminished  by  the  drolleries  of  his  friend  Seth,  who 
kept  at  his  side,  saying  the  queerest  things,  and  ever 
and  anon  shouting  poetry  to  the  running  seas. 

"'Though  the  strained  mast  should  quiver  as  a  reed, 
and  the  rent  canvas  fluttering  strew  the  gale,  still 
must  I  on ;  for  I  am  as  a  weed  flung  from  the  rocks  on 
Ocean's  foam  to  sail,  where'er  secession  breeds,  or  trea- 
son's works  prevail,'" — added  Seth,  altering  the  verse 
to.  suit  the  occasion. 

The  fleet  had  indeed  been  rudely  handled  in  that 
rough  night  ofl*  the  cape.  But  now  sail  after  sail  hove 
in  sight,  all  making  their  way  as  best  they  could 
towards  the  inlet.     Tliis  some  reached,  and  got  safely 


THE  VOYAGE  AND  THE  STOKM.         157 

in  before  night.  Others,  attempting  to  enter,  got 
aground,  and  were  with  difficulty  got  off  again.  Some 
anchored  outside,  and  some  lay  off  and  on,  waiting  for 
morning,  to  be  piloted  past  the  shoals,  and  through 
the  narrow  channel,  to  a  sofe  anchorage  inside. 


AV. 

HATTERAS  INLET. 

But  what  a  morning  dawned !  Another  stonn, 
more  terrible  than  the  first,  had  been  raging  all  night, 
and  its  violence  was  still  increasing.  And  now  it 
came  on  to  rain ;  and  rain  and  wind  and  sea  appeared 
to  vie  with  each  other  in  wi*eaking  their  fury  on  the 
ill-starred  expedition. 

Tuesday  night  the  storm  abated,  and  Wednesday 
brought  fair  weather.  The  fleet  in  the  mean  time  had 
sufiered  perils  and  hardships  which  can  never  be  told. 
Many  of  the  transports  were  still  missing.  Many  were 
at  anchor  outside  the  inlet,  waiting  for  pilots  to  bring 
them  in.  Some  had  been  lost.  The  "  City  of  'Rew 
York,"  a  large  steam  propeller,  freighted  with  stores 
and  munitions  of  war,  had  struck  on  the  bar,  and 
foundered  in  the  breakers.  The  crew,  after  cUnging 
for  twenty-four  hours  in  the  rigging  to  avoid  being 
washed  off  by  the  sea,  which  made  a  clean  breach  over 
her,  had  been  saved,  but  vessel  and  cargo  were  a  total 
loss.     Frank  had  watched  the  wreck,  which  seemed  at 

(158) 


HATTERAS    INLET.  159 

one  moment  to  emerge  from  the  waves,  and  tho  next 
was  half  hidden  by  the  incoming  billows,  and  envel- 
oped in  a  white  shroud  of  foam. 

The  schooner  had  escaped  the  dangers  of  the  sea, 
and  was  safe  at  last  inside  the  inlet;  as  safe,  at 
least,  as  any  of  the  fleet,  in  so  precarious  an 
fvnchorage. 

There  was  still  another  formidable  bar  to  pass 
l^efore  the  open  waters  of  Pamlico  Sound  could  be 
entered.  The  transports  that  had  got  in  were  lying 
in  a  basin,  frill  of  shoals,  with  but  little  room  to  sw^ng 
with  the  tide,  and  they  were  continually  running  into 
each  other,  or  getting  aground.  Nor  was  it  encour- 
aging to  see  bales  of  hay  from  one  of  the  wrecks 
lodge  at  low  water  upon  the  very  sand-bar  which  the 
fleet  had  still  to  cross. 

Frank  and  his  comrades  took  advantage  of  the  fair 
weather  to  make  observations  of  the  two  forts,  Hat- 
teras  and  Clark,  which  command  the  situation.  These 
were  constructed  by  the  rebels,  but  had  been  captured 
from  them  by  General  Butler  and  Commodore  String- 
ham,  in  August,  1861,  and  were  now  garrisoned  by 
national  troops.  They  stand  on  the  south-western 
limb  of  one  of  the  low,  barren  islands  which  separate 
this  part  of  Pamlico  Sound  froni  the  Atlantic.  Be- 
tween two  narrow  sand-spits  the  tides  rush  in  and  out 
with  great  force  and  rapidity  ;  and  this  is  the  mlet  — 


160  THE    DIIUMMER   BOY. 

a  mere  passage  cut  through  into  the  souud  h}'  the 
action  of  the  sea. 

As  the  schooner  was  being  towed  farther  in,  some 
men  in  a  boat,  who  had  been  ashore  at  Fort  Hatteras, 
and  were  returning  to  their  shij},  came  alongside. 
The  party  consisted  of  some  officers  belonging  to  a 
Kew  Jersey  regiment,  together  with  a  boat's  crew  of 
six  men. 

"  Throw  us  a  hne,"  they  said ;  "  and  tow  us  along." 

A  hne  was  flung  to  them  from  the  schooner ;  but 
they  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  it,  for  the  waves 
were  running  high  in  the  channel.  Pending  the  ef- 
fort, the  tiller  slipped  from  the  hands  of  the  officer 
who  was  steering ;  a  heavy  sea  struck  the  boat  on  the 
quarter,  and  she  capsized.  Boats  were  lowered  fi-om 
the  schooner,  and  sent  to  the  rescue.  It  was  a  scene 
of  intense  and  anxious  interest  to  Frank,  who  was  on 
deck  and  saw  it  all.  The  men  in  the  water  righted 
the  boat  several  times,  but  she  filled  and  capsized  as 
often.  One  officer  was  seen  to  get  his  feet  entangled, 
sink  with  his  head  downward,  and  drown  in  that  posi- 
tion before  he  could  be  extricated.  He  was  the  colo- 
nel of  the  regiment.  The  surgeon  of  the  regiment 
also   perished.     All   the   rest   were   saved. 

The  droA\Tied  bodies  were  brought  upon  deck,  and 
every  effi)rt  was  made  to  bring  back  life  into  them ; 
but  m  vain.     Aii,d  there  they  lay  ;  so  full  of  hope,  and 


HATTERAS    INLET.  161 

courage,  and  throbbing  human  life  an  hour  ago —  aow 
two  pale,  livid  corpses.  The  incident  made  a  strong 
impression  on  Frank,  not  yet  accustomed  to  the  aspect 
of  death,  which  was  destined  to  become  so  familiar  to 
his  eyes  a  few  days  later. 

Still  the  dangers  and  delays  that  threatened  to 
prove  fatal  to  the  expedition  were  far  from  ended. 
It  seemed  that  the  rebels  were  the  enemies  it  had 
least  to  fear.  Avarice,  incapacity,  and  treachery  at 
home  had  conspired  with  the  elements  against  it. 
Many  of  the  larger  vessels  drew  too  much  water  for 
the  passage  into  the  sound,  and  were  wholly  unfit  for 
the  voyage. 

"  The  contractors,"  said  Burnside,  "  have  ruined  me ; 
but  God  holds  me  in  his  palm,  and  all  will  yet  be 
well." 

With  nothing  to  distinguish  him  but  his  yellow  belt, 
in  blue  shirt,  slouched  hat,  and  high  boots,  he  stood 
like  a  sea  god  (says  an  eye-witness)  in  the  bows  of  his 
light  boat,  speaking  every  vessel,  and  inquiring  affec- 
tionately about  the  welfare  of  the  men. 

Storm  succeeded  storm,  while  the  fleet  was  yet  al 
the  inlet ;  many  days  elapsing  before  the  principal  ves- 
sels could  be  got  over  the  "  bulkhead,"  as  the  bar  is 
called,  which  still  intervened  between  them  and  the 
sound.  To  add  to  the  sufferings  of  the  troops,  the 
supply  of  fresh  water  gave  out.  Much  of  that  with 
11 


162  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

which  the  transports  had  been  iDrovided  by  dishonest 
or  imbecile  contractors,  had  been  put  up  in  old  oil 
casks,  which  imparted  to  it  a  taste  and  odor  far  from 
agreeable.  But  even  of  such  wretched  stuff  as  this, 
there  was  at  length  none  to  be  had. 

"  We  had  ham  for  dinner  yesterday,"  wrote  Frank ; 
"  but  as  we  had  nothing  to  drink  after  it,  we  thought 
we  should  die  of  thirst.  I  never  suffered  so  in  my 
life ;  and  O,  what  would  I  have  given  for  a  good 
drink  out  of  our  well  at  home  !  We  were  as  glad  as 
so  many  ducks,  this  morning,  to  see  it  rain.  O,  it  did 
pour  beautifully  !  I  never  knew  what  a  blessing  rain 
was  before.  I  went  on  deck,  and  got  wet  through, 
catching  water  where  it  dripped  from  the  rigging. 
But  I  didn't  care  for  the  soaking  —  I  had  filled  my 
canteen  ;  and  I  tell  you,  that  nasty  rain-water  was  a 
luxury." 

The  noble-hearted  general  was  grieved  to  the  soul 
by  the  sufferings  of  his  men.  Neither  day  nor  night 
did  he  seem  to  desist  for  a  moment  from  his  efforts  to 
atone,  by  his  own  vigilance  and  activity,  for  the  culpa- 
ble inefficiency  and  negligence  of  others.  He  hastened 
to  Fort  Clark,  where  tliere  was  a  condenser  for  con- 
verting salt  water  into  fresh,  and  attended  personally 
to  putting  it  into  operation.  By  this  means  a  misera- 
bly meagi-e  supply  was  obtained,  —  enough,  howevcf, 
together  with  the  rain  that  was  caught,  to  keep  the 


HATTEEAS    INLET.  168 

demon  of  thirst  at  bay  until  the  water  vessels  could 
arrive. 

Ten  days  elajDsed  after  the  schooner  entered  the 
inlet  before  she  was  got  over  the  bulkhead  into  the 
open  sound.  And  still  ten  days  more  were  destined 
to  slip  by  before  any  general  movement  against  the 
enemy  was  attempted  by  the  fleet.  In  the  mean 
while  the  troops  confined  on  shipboard  resorted  to  a 
thousand  devices  for  passing  away  the  time.  There 
was  dancing,  there  was  card-playing,  there  was  sing- 
ing; and  many  new  games  were  invented  for  the 
occasion.     Frank  learned  the  manual  of  arms. 

Something  else  he  learned,  not  so  much  to  his 
credit.  Before  saying  what  that  was,  I  wish  to  re- 
mind the  reader  of  the  j^eculiar  circumstances  in 
which  he  was  placed  —  the  tedious  hours ;  the  hard- 
ships, which  he  was  glad  to  forget  at  any  cost;  the 
example  of  companions,  all  older,  and  many  so  much 
older  than  himself;  and,  not  least  by  any  means,  his 
own  ardent  and  susceptible  nature. 

One  day  he  joined  his  comrades  in  a  game  of  bluff. 
Now,  bluff  is  a  game  there  is  no  fun  in  unless  some 
stake  is  played  for.  The  boys  had  been  ashore,  and 
gathered  some  pebbles  and  shells  from  the  beach,  and 
these  were  used  for  the  purpose.  Frank  had  great 
success.  He  won  more  sh^ls  than  any  body.  In  the 
excitement,  he  forgot  his  thirst,  and  all  the  accompa- 


164  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

nying  troubles.  He  forgot,  too,  that  th.s  was  a  kind 
of  gambling.  And  he  was  so  elated,  that  when  some- 
body proposed  to  play  for  pennies,  he  did  not  think 
that  it  would  be  much  worse  to  do  that  than  to  play 
for  shells  and  pebbles. 

Unfortunately,  he  was  still  successful.  He  won 
twenty  cents  in  about  an  hour.  He  did  not  intend 
to  keep  them,  for  he  did  not  think  that  would  be 
right.  "I'll  play,"  said  he,  "and  let  the  boys  win 
them  back  again."  But,  at  the  next  sitting,  he  won 
still  more  pennies ;  so  that  he  thought  he  could  well 
afford  to  play  a  bolder  game.  His  success  was  all  the 
more  gratifying  when  he  considered  that  he  was  the 
youngest  of  the  party,  and  that  by  skill  and  good  for- 
tune he  was  beating  his  elders. 

One  day,  after  he  had  won  more  than  a  dollar,  — 
which  seems  a  good  deal  of  money  to  a  boy  in  his 
condition,  —  he  began  to  lose.  This  was  not  so  amus- 
ing. He  had  ma'de  up  his  mind  that  when  his  win- 
nings were  gone,  he  would  stop  playing ;  and  the  idea 
of  stopping  was  not  pleasant  to  contemplate.  How 
could  he  give  uj)  a  sj^ort  which  surpassed  every  thing 
else  in  the  way  of  excitement?  However,  he  de- 
termined to  keep  his  resolution.  And  it  was  soon 
brought  to   a  test. 

The  luck  had  turned,_^and  Frank  found  himself 
where   he   began.     If  he   played   any  more,  he   must 


HATTERAS    INLET. 


165 


risk  his  own  money.  He  didn't  mind  losing  a  few 
pennies,  —  that  was  nothing  serious;  but  the  boys 
were   not  playing  for   simple   pennies  now. 

« I  believe  I've  played  enough,  boys,"  said  he,  pass- 
ino-  his  hand  across  his  heated  brow,  and  casting  his 
eyes  around  at  objects  which  looked  strange  to  them 
after  their  long  and  intense  application  to  the  cards. 

«0,  of  course!"  sneered  Jack  Winch,  who  was 
watching  the  game,  «  Frank  '11  stop  as  soon  as  he  i? 
beginning  to  lose  a  little." 

Jack  was  not  playing,  for  a  very  good  reason.  He 
had  spent  nearly  all  his  money,  and  lost  the  rest.  He 
had  lost  some  of  it  to  Frank,  and  was  consequently 
very  desirous  of  seeing  the  latter  brought  to  the  same 
condition  as  himself. 

The  sneering  remark  stung  Frank.  He  would 
gladly  have  pleaded  Jack's  excuse  for  not  playing  any 
more  ;  but  he  had  still  in  his  pocket  over  two  dollars 
of  the  money  he  had  reserved  for  himself  w^hen  the 
troops  were  paid  off.  And  it  did  seem  rather  mean  in 
him,  now  he  thought  of  it,  to  throw  up  the  game  the 
moment  others  were  serving  him  as  he  had  been  only 
too  willing  to  serve  them. 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  losing  my  money,"  said  he, 
blushing;  "but  I've  had  enough  play  for  one 
lay." 

«  You  didn't  get  sick  of  it  so  easy  wl  en  the  luck 


166  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

was  on  your  side,"  said  Harris,  who  had  lost  money  to 
Frank,  and  now  wanted  his  revenge. 

"For  instance,  yesterday,  when  the  Parrott  was 
talking  to   the   boy,"   said   Seth. 

The  Parrott  he  spoke  of  was  one  of  the  twelve- 
pound  Parrott  guns  the  schooner  earned;  and  the  boy 
was  the  huoy^  or  target,  in  the  water,  at  which  the 
gunners  had  practised  firing  round  shot.  Frank  re- 
membered how  all  wanted  to  put  aside  the  cards  and 
watch  the  sport  except  himself.  At  another  time  he 
would  have  taken  great  interest  in  it,  and  have  been 
on  hand  to  cheer  as  enthusiastically  as  any  body  when 
the  well-aimed  shots  struck  the  water ;  but  his  mind 
was  completely  absorbed  in  winning  money.  There 
was  no  such  noble  diversion  on  deck  to-day ;  and  it 
was  only  too  easy  to  see  his  real  reason  for  getting  so 
soon  tired  of  bluff. 

"  That's  right,  Frank ;  stop  !  Now's  a  good  time," 
said  Atwater,  who  watched  the  game  a  good  deal,  but 
never  took  a  hand  in  it. 

"  Well,  I  shan't  urge  him,  ef  he's  in  'arnest,"  said 
Seth ;  "  though  he  has  kep'  me  at  it  a  darned  sight 
longer  'n  I  wanted  to,  sometimes,  when  'twas  my  tin 
'stid  of  his'n  that  was  goin'  by  the  board.  Stop 
where  ye  be,  my  bold  drummer  boy  ;  keep  yer  money, 
ef  ye've  got  any  left ;  that  is  the  best  way,  after  all. 
'  I  know  the  right,  and  I  approve  it,  too  ;  I  know  the 


HATTERAS    INLET.  167 

wrong,  and  yet  the  wrong  pursue,'"  added  Tucket, 
dealing  the  cards. 

No  doubt  he  meant  to  give  Frank  good  advice. 
But  to  the  sensitive  and  proud  spirit  of  the  boy,  it 
sounded  like  withering  sarcasm.  He  couldn't  stand 
that. 

« I'll  play  fifteen  minutes  longer,"  said  he,  looking  at 
his  watch,  " if  that'll  please  you.' 

"  A  quarter  of  an  hour ! "  said  Harris,  contemptu- 
ously. "We'd  better  all  stop  now,  and  come  at  it 
jfresh   again,  by   and  by." 

The  proposition  was  acceded  to;  for  what  could 
Frank  say  against  it  ?  He  had  not  the  courage  to  say, 
"  Boys,  I  feel  that  I  have  been  doing  wrong,  and  I 
mean  to  stop  at  once  ; "  but  he  thought  it  more  manly 
to  play  once  more,  if  only  to  show  that  he  was  not 
afraid  of  losing.  "  And  perhaps,"  he  thought,  remem- 
bering his  former  luck,  "  I  shall  win." 


XVI. 

HOW  FRANK  LOST  HIS  WATCH. 

Play  again  he  did  accordingly ;  and,  sure  enough, 
he  won.  He  brought  Tucket  to  his  last  dime.  The 
poetical  and  philosophic  spirit  in  which  that  good- 
humored  young  man  contemplated  his  losses,  was 
worthy  of  a  better  cause. 

"'Fare  thee  well,  and,  ef  forever,  still  forever  fare 
thee  well,' "  he  remarked,  staking  the  said  dime.  And 
when  it  was  lost,  —  for  Frank  "raked  the  pile," — he 
added,  pathetically,  going  from  Byron  to  Bums,  "'Fare 
thee  weel,  thou  brightest,  fairest ;  fare  thee  weel,  thou 
last  and  dearest !  Had  we  nevel*  loved  sae  kindly, 
had  we  never  loved  sae  blindly,  never  met,  or  never 
parted,  I  had  ne'er  been  broken-hearted.'  Boys,  I'm 
dead  broke,  and  must  quit  off,  without  some  of. you 
that  are  flush  will  lend  me  a  quarter." 

"Ask  Frank,"  said  EUis;  "he's  the  flushest." 

So  Frank  lent  Seth  a  quarter,  and  with  that  quar- 
ter Seth  won  back  all  his  money,  and,  in  the  course  of 
two  more  sittings,  cleaned  Frank  out,  as  the  phrase  is 

(168) 


\    • 

HOW    FRANK    LOST    HIS    WATCH.  169 

Then,  one  would  say,  Frank  had  a  valid  excuse  to 
retire,  if  not  before.  He  had  risked  his  money,  and 
lost  it.  Certainly  nothing  more  could  be  expected 
of  him.  Seth  grinned,  and  Jack  Winch  rubbed  his 
hands  with  delight. 

But  now  Franh  was  not  content.  His  heart  was 
gnawed  by  chagrin.  He  had  not  really  wished  to  * 
stop  playing  at  all;  for  the  sense  of  vacancy  and 
craving  which  always,  in  such  natures,  succeeds  the 
cessation  of  unhealthy  excitement,  is  misery  enough  in 
itself  But  to  have  left  off  with  as  much  money  in  his 
pocket  as  he  began  with,  would  have  been  felicity, 
compared  with  the  bitter  consciousness  of  folly,  the 
stinging  vexation  and  regret,  which  came  with  his 
misfortunes. 

'  "I'll  lend  ye,  if  ye  like,"  said  the  good-natured 
Seth  —  perliaps  in  return  for  the  similar  favor  he  had 
received;  or  rather  because  he  pitied  the  boy,  and 
meant  to  let  him  win  back  his  money;  for,  with  all 
his  mischief  and  drollery,  this  Tucket  was  one  of  the 
most  generous  and  kind-hearted  of  Frank's  friends. 

The  offer  was  gladly  accepted;  and  Frank,  praying 
Fortune  to  favor  him,  made  a  promise  in  his  heart, 
that,  if  she  would  aid  him  to  recover  his  losses,  he 
would  then  bid  farewell  forever  ti  the  enticing 
game. 

But  the  capricious  goddess  does  not  answer  prayers. 


170  '  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

On  the  contrary,  she  dehghts  to  side  with  those  who 
need  her  least,  spiirnhig  away  the  supplicants  at 
her   feet. 

Frank  borrowed  a  quarter,  and  lost  it  immediately. 
He  borrowed  again,  determined  to  play  more  care- 
fully.  He  waited  until  he  had  an  excellent  hand, 
then  staked  his  money. 

Tucket  and  Ellis  did  not  play;  and  the  game  was 
between  Frank  and  Harris.  Both  were  confident, 
and  they  kept  doubling  their  stakes,  Frank  borrowing 
again  and  again  of  Seth  for  the  purpose.  He  held 
four  kings,  the  strongest  hand  but  one  in  the  game. 
He  knew  Harris's  style  of  playing  too  well  to  be 
much  daunted  by  his  audacity,  not  believing  that  he 
held  that  one  stronger  hand  than  his. 

"  I'll  lend  ye  as  long  as  ye  call  for  more,"  said  Seth ; 
"only,  seeing  you've  borrowed  already  more'n  I've 
won  of  ye,  s'posin'  ye  give  me  some  security  ? " 

"  I've  nothing  to  give,"  said  Frank. 
,  "There's  your  watch,"  suggested  Winch,  who  had 
had  a  glimpse  of  Joe's  cards.  And  at  the  sam.e  lime 
he  winked  significantly,  giving  Frank  to  understand 
that  his  antagonist  had  not  a  hand  of  very  great 
strength. 

Thus  encouraged,  sure  of  victory,  and  too  much 
beside  himself  to  consider  the  sacred  nature  of  the 
ob  eci*   he  was  placing  in  pawn,  Frank  handed  ovc 


HOW    FRANK    LOST    HIS    WATCH.  171 

his  watch  to  Seth,  and  received  from  him  loan  aftef 
loan,  until  he  was  eight  dollars  in  his  debt.  Setl  did 
not  like  to  advance  any  more  than  that  on  the  w&tch. 
So  the  critical  moment  arrived.  Frank,  with  flushed 
face  and  trembling  hands,  placed  his  all  upon  ^the 
board.  Then  Harris,  showing  his  cards  with  a  smile, 
swept  the  pile  towards  his  cap. 

"Let  me  see!"  cried  Frank,  incredulous,  staying 
his  arm  until  he  could  be  sure  of  the  cards. 

His  flushed  face  turned  white;  his  hand  fell  upon 
the  bench  as  if  suddenly  palsied. 

"  Two  pairs  of  aces !  that's  what  I  call  luck,  Joe," 
said  Winch,  scarce  able  to  restrain  his  joyous  chuck- 
ling. 

Frank  looked  up  at  him  with  wild  distress  and 
kindling  fury  in  his  face. 

"  It  was  you,  Jack  Winch !    You  made  me " 

"  Made  you  what  ?  "  said  John,  insolently. 

What,  indeed  ?  He  had  by  looks,  which  sj^oke  as 
plainly  as  words,  assured  Frank  that  Harris  held  but 
an  indifierent  hand ;  whereas  he  held  the  best  the 
pack  afibrded.  By  that  falsehood,  —  for,  with  looks 
and  actions  at  your  command,  it  is  not  necessary  to 
open  your  mouth  in  order  to  tell  the  most  downright, 
absolute  lie.  —  he  had  induced  Frank  to  play  on 
boldly  to  his  own  ruin. 

But  was  he  alone  to  b\ar  ae  ?    Even  if  he  had  told 


172  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

the  truth  ajout  Joe's  hand,  ought  Frank  to  naie 
been  influenced  by  it?  He  had  no  right  to  that 
knowledge,  and  to  take  advantage  of  it  was  dis- 
honest. 

No  doubt  Frank  himself  thought  so,  now  he  re- 
flected upon  it.  To  accuse  Jack  was  to  confess  his 
own  disingenuousness.  He  was  by  nature  as  fair 
and  open  as  the  day;  he  despised  a  base  decep- 
tion ;  and  it  was  only  as  an  inevitable  consequence 
of  such  wrong  doings  as  lead  directly  to  faithlessness 
and  duplicity,  that  he  could  ever  become  guilty  of 
these  immoralities. 

Such  is  the  vice  of  gambling  —  a  process  by  which 
men  hope  to  obtain  their  neighbors'  goods  without 
yielding  an  equivalent  for  them;  and  which,  there- 
fore, inflames  covetousness,  and  accustoms  the  mind 
to  the  contemplation  of  unjust  gains,  until  it  is  ready 
to  resort  to  any  unjust  means  of  securing  them.  Do 
you  say  there  are  honest  gamblers?  The  term  is  a 
contradiction.  You  might,  with  equal  consistency, 
talk  of  truthful  liars.  To  get  your  money,  or  any 
thing  else,  without  rendering  an  equitable  return,  is 
the  core  of  all  dishonesty,  whether  in  the  gamester, 
the  pickpocket,  the  man  who  cheats  in  trade,  or  the 
boy  who  robs  orchards.  And  a  conscience  once  de- 
bauched by  dishonest  aims,  will  not,  as  I  said,  long 
scruple  at  unfair  means. 


HOW    FEANK    LOST    HIS    WATCH.  173 

Singularly  enough,  Frank  was  more  abashed  hy  the 
betrayal  of  the  unfair  means  he  had  attempted  to  use, 
than  he  had  yet  been  by  any  consciousness  of  the 
immorality  of  the  practice  which  led  to  them.  He 
could  not  say  to  Winch,  "  You  told  me  I  was  sure  of 
winning,  and  so  deceived  me."  He  only  looked  at 
him  a  moment,  with  wild  distress  and  exasperation  on 
his  face,  which  quickly  changed  to  an  expression  of 
morose  and  bitter  despair;  and  dropping  his  head, 
and  putting  up  his  hands,  he  burst  in,to  irrepressible 
sobs. 

"  My  watch  !  my  watch  that  was  given  to  me  — " 
and  which  he  had  so  ignominiously  gambled  away. 
No  wonder  he  wept.  No  wonder  he  shook  fi'om  head 
to  foot  with  the  passion  of  grief,  as  the  conviction  of 
his  own  folly  and  infatuation  burned  like  intolerable 
fire  in  his  soul. 

"  Dry  up,  baby  ! "  said  Jack,  through  his  teeth. 
"There  comes  the  captain." 

Baby?  Poor  Frank!  It  was  because  he  was  not 
altogether  given  ovei-  to  recklessness  and  vice  that  he 
cried  at  the  thought  of  his  lost  watch,  and  of  his  gross 
ingratitude  to  the  unknown  giver.  Still  he  felt  that  it 
was  weak  in  him  to  cry.  He  who  risks  his  property 
in  oi-der  to  get  possession  of  another's  should  be 
philosopher  enough  to  take  with  equanimity  the  loss 
of  his  own. 


174  THE  drumm:er  boy. 

"  Don't  be  childish,  Frauk ;  don't  l)e  silly ! "  said  hU 
friends. 

And,  indeed,  he  had  the  strongest  reason  for  sup- 
pressing his  sobs.  Captain  Edney  Avas  approaching. 
He  was  the  last  person  to  whom  he  would  ha^e 
wished  to  betray  his  guilt  and  misfortune.  He  loved 
and  respected  him ;  and  we  fear  most  the  disap- 
probation of  those  we  love  and  respect.  Moreover, 
through  him  the  heart-breaking  intelligence  of  her 
son's  evil  courses  might  reach  Mrs.  Manly.  But  no 
doubt  Frank's  chief  motive  for  concealing  the  cause 
of  his  grief  from  Captain  Edney  \ras  the  suspicion  he 
still  entertained,  notwithstanding  that  officer's  pro- 
fessed ignorance  of  the  entire  matter,  that  he  was  in 
reality  the  secret  donor  of  the  watch.  So  he  choked 
back  his  sobs,  and  pretended  to  be  assorting  some 
pebbles,  which  the  boys  used  as  counters,  especially 
when  certain  officers  were  passing,  who  would  have 
reproved  them  if  they  had  seen  money  on  the  board. 
And  Captain  Edney,  whether  he  suspected  any  thing 
wrong,  or  not,  walked  on ;  and  that  restraint  upon 
Frank's  feelings  was  removed. 

But  having  once  controlled  the  outburst,  he  did  not 
suffi3r  them  to  get  the  better  of  him  again.  With  a 
look  of  silent  and  sullen  despair,  he  got  up,  and  went 
to  his  bunk,  and  threw  himself  upon  it,  and,  turning 
his  face  to  the  wall,  refused  te  be  com  'orted. 


HOW    PRANK    LOST    HIS    WATCH.  175 

It  was  the  wooden  wall  of  the  ship's  timbers  -  -  •  the 
same  he  had  looked  at  in  sickness,  in  storms  at  sea, 
by  day,  and  at  night  by  the  dim  light  of  the  swinging 
ship's  lanterns ;  and  when  he  lay  calmly  at  rest,  in  the 
palm  of  God,  amid  the  convulsions  and  dangers  of  the 
deep,  and  when,  in  the  tediousneSs  of  long,  dull  days 
of  waiting,  he  had  lain  there,  and  solaced  himself  with 
sweet  thoughts  of  home. 

But  never  had  the  ribbed  ship's  side  appeared  to 
him  as  now.  And  yet  it  was  the  same ;  but  he  was 
not  the  same.  He  was  no  longer  the  bright,  hopeful, 
happy  boy  as  before,  but  miserable,  guilty,  broken- 
hearted. And  as  we  are,  so  is  the  world  to  us ;  the 
most  familiar'  objects  changing  their  aspect  with  every 
change  in  the  soul.  Does  the  sunshine,  which  was 
bright  yesterday,  look  cold  to-day  ?  and  is  the  sweet 
singing  of  birds  suddenly  become  as  a  mockery  to  the 
ear  ?  and  the  faces  of  friends,  late  so  pleasant  to  see, 
have  they  grown  strange  and  reproachful  ?  and  is  life, 
before  so  full  of  hope,  turned  sour,  and  vapid,  and  bit- 
ter? O,  my  friend,  I  pity  you ;  but.  the  change,  which 
you  probablj  think  is  in  the  world,  is  only  in  yourself. 

"  The  parson  seems  to  have  fallen  from  grace,"  said 
John  Winch,  sarcastically. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  said  At  water,  sternly.  "You 
are  all  more  to  blame  than  he  is.  Of  course,  a  boy  of 
uis  aGje  will  do  what  he  sees  older  ones  do.     It's  a 


176  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

shame  to  get  his  money  and  watch  away  Irom 
him   so." 

And  the  honest  fellow  went  and  sat  by  Frank,  and 
"ried  to  console  him. 

"  Go  away  !  go  away  !  "  said  Frank,  in  his  anguish. 
"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  such  a  miserable  fool  as 
I  am.     I  deserve  it  all.     Let  nie  be  !  " 

Atwater,  who  was  sadly  deficient  in  what  is  called 
the  gift  of  gab,  had  no  soothing  words  at  his  com- 
mand, flill  as  his  heart  was  of  compassion.  And  after 
sitting  some  time  by  the  unhappy  boy,  patting  him 
softly  on  the  shoulder,  he  arose,  and  went  away ;  con- 
cluding that  his  absence  would  be  a  relief  to  one  so 
utterly  miserable. 

Then  Seth  Tucket  came,  and  took  his  place. 

"  That's  always  the  way  with  bad  luck,  I  swan,"  he 
said,  sympathizingiy.  "  Misfortunes  always  come  in 
heaps.     It  never  rains  but  it  pours."  .  ^ 

"  I  wish  you'd  let  me  alone  ! "  said  the  boy,  peev- 
ishly. 

"  That's  fair,  I  swan  !  "  said  Seth.  «  But  le'  me  tell 
ye.  Ef  I  hed  won  the  watch,  I'd  gi-  e  it  back  to 
ye  in  a  minute.  But  Harris  is  the  winner,  and  I've 
only  the  watch  now  to  show  for  my  money.  But 
here  s  a  half  dollar  to  begin  again  with.  You  know 
what  luck  is  at  cards,  —  how  it  shifts,  now  this  way, 
now  that,  like  a  cow's  tail  in  fly-time,  —  and  I  hain't 


HOW    FRANK    LOST    HIS    WATCH.  177 

the  least  doubt  but  with  that  half  dollar  }ou'll  win 
back  all  your  money,  and  your  watch  too." 

The  offer  was  kindly  meant ;  and  it  encouraged  a 
little  spark  of  comfort  in  Frank's  heart.  To  win  back 
his  losses  —  that  was  his  only  hope.  He  took  the 
money,  silently  pressing-  Seth's  ^hand.  After  that  he 
struggled  to  forget  his  grief  in  thoughts  o^  his 
former  good  fortune,  which  he  believed  would  now 
return  to  him. 

•       '  12 


xvn. 

IN    WHICH  FRANK   SEES   STRANGE   THINGS. 

In  this  frame  of  mind,  Frank  went  on  deck.  He 
saw  the  old  drum-major  coming  towards  him.  Being 
in  any  thing  but  a  social  mood,  he  txied  to  avoid  him ; 
and  turning  his  back,  walked  away.  But  the  veteran 
followed,  and  came  to  his  side. 

"  Well,  my  young  man,"  said  the  old  cynic,  exhibit- 
ing a  little  agitation,  and  speaking  in  a  hurried  tone, 
unusual  with  him,  "  I  hear  brave  tidings  of  you." 

His  voice  sounded  harsh  and  sarcastic  to  the  irri- 
tated boy ;  and,  indeed,  there  was  resentment  enough 
in  the  veteran's  breast,  as  well  as  a  bitter  sense  of 
injury  and  disappointment,  as  he  spoke. 

Frank,  nursing  his  sore  heart,  the  wounds  of  which 
he  could  not  bear  to  have  touched  by  the  most  fiiend- 
ly  hand,  compressed  his  lips  together,  and  made  no 
reply. 

"  So  you  have  been  really  gambling  —  have  you?" 
added  the  old  man,  in  tones  of  suppressed  emotion. 

"  That's  my  business,"  said  Frank,  curtly. 

(178) 


IN    WHICH    FRANK    SEES    STRANGE    THINGS.        179 

He  regretted  the  undutiful  words  tlie  instant  they 
escaped  his  lips.  But  he  was  ,too  proud  to  ask  pardon 
for  them.  As  for  the  old  man,  he  stood  silent  for  a 
long  time,  looking  down  at  the  boy,  who  looked  not 
up  again  at  him.  And  there  was  a  tremor  in  his  Iq:, 
and  a  dilatation  in  his  eye,  which  at  length  grew 
misty  with  a  tear  thac  gathered,  but  did  not  fall. 
And   with    a   sigh,   he   turned   away. 

"  Well,  be  it  so ! "  Frank  heard  him  say,  as  if  to 
himself.     "  I  thought  —  I  hoped  —  but  no  matter." 

He  thought  —  he  hoped  —  what?  That  his  early 
faith  in  love  and  friendship,  which  had  so  long  been 
dead,  might  be  raised  to  life  again  by  this  boy,  for 
whom  he  had  conceived  so  singular  a  liking,  and 
who,  like  all  the  rest,  proved  ungrateful  and  unworthy 
when  the  hour  of  trial  came. 

Alas !  such  is  the  result  of  our  transgressions. 
Once  having  offended  our  own  souls,  we  are  quick 
to  offend  others.  And  vice  makes  us  irritable,  ungen- 
erous, unjust.  And  not  a  crime  can  be  committed,  but 
its  evil  consequences  follow,  not  the  author  of  it  only, 
but  also  the  innocent,  upon  whom  its  blighting  shadow 
falls. 

"  Frank,  if  you  want  some  fun ! "  said  an  eager 
whisper,  with  a  promise  of  mischief  in  it ;  a  hand  at 
tlie  same  time  twitching  the  boy's  coat. 

It  was  Ned  Ellis,  who  had  come  for  him,  and  waa 


180  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

hastening  away  again.  Frank  followed  —  all  too 
ready  for  any  enterprise  that  would  bring  the  balm 
of  forgetfulness  to  his  hurt  mind. 

The  boys  entered  the  hold  of  the  vessel,  where,  in 
the  hush  and  obscurity,  a  group  of  their  companions 
stood  or  sat,  among  the  barrels  and  boxes,  still  as 
statues,  until  they  recognized  the  new  comers. 

"  All  right !  nobody  but  us,"  whisj^ered  Ned,  clam- 
bering over  the  fi*eight,  accompanied  by  Frank. 

"  Come  along,  and  make  no  noise,  if  you  value  your 
hides,"  said  Harris.  "  Here,  Frank,  is  something  to 
console  ye  for  your  bad  luck."  And  he  held  out 
something   in   a   tin   cup. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Frank;    "wat(-i*?"    . 

"  Something  almost  as  good,"  said  Harris.  "  It  was 
water  the  boys  came  down  here  in  search  of;  and 
they've  tapped  five  barrels  of  sirup  in  the  operation, 
and  finally  they've  stuck  the  gimlet  into  a  cask  of-- 
taste  on't." 

Frank  knew  what  it  was  by  the  smell.  It  was  n<jt 
the  first  time  he  had  smelt  whiskey;  or  tasted  it, 
either.  But  hitherto  he  had  stopped  at  the  taste, 
having  nothing  but  his  curiosity  to  gratify.  Now, 
however,  he  had  something  else  to  gratify  —  a  burning 
thirst  of  the  body,  aggravated  by  his  feverish  excite 
ment,  and  a  burning   thirst    of  the   soul,  which   de 


IN    WHICH    FKxVNK    SEES    STRANGE    THINGS.        18J 

mandecl  stimulus  of  any  kind  whatsoever  that  would 
allay  the  in\Yard  torment. 

And  so  he  drank.  He  did  not  love  the  liquor, 
although  the  rank  taste  of  it  was  ameliorated  by  a 
liberal  admixture  of  sirup.  But  he  felt  the  internal 
sinking  and  wretchedness  of  heart  and  stomach  braced 
up  and  assuaged  by  the  first  draught;  so  he  took 
anotheiv  And  for  the  same  reason  he  indulged  in  a 
third.  And  so  it  happened  that  his  head  began 
shortly  to  swim,  his  eyes  to  see  double,  and  things 
to  look  queer  to  them  generally.  The  dim  hold  of 
the  vessel  might  have  been  the  pit  of  darkness,  and 
the  obscure  grinning  faces  of  his  comrades  might  have 
been  those  of  imps  therein  abiding,  for  aught  he  knew 
to  the  contrary^  or  cared.     He  began  to  laugh. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Frank  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  he  said,  thickly ;  "  only  it's  so  droll." 
And  he  sat  down  on  a  cask,  laughing  again  with 
uncontrollable  merriment  —  at  nothing ;  an  infallible 
symptom  that  a  person  is  either  tipsy  or  a  fool.  But 
Frank  was  not  a  fooK     Ergo  :  he  was  tipsy. 

"Get  him  up  as  quick  as  we  can,  boys,"  he  heard 
some  one  saying,  "  or  else  we  can't  get  him  up  at 
all." 

"  Better  leave  him  here  till  he  gets  over  it,"  said 
another.     "That  '11  be  the  best  way." 

"Who'd    have   thought    a   little   dodger   like   that 


182  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

would  upset  him  ?  "  said  somebody  else.  "  By  George, 
we'll -all  get  found  out,  through  him." 

"  Whads  mare  ? "  said  Frank,  meaning  to  ask, 
"What  is  the  matter?"  but  somehoAV  he  could  not 
make  his  organs  of  articulation  go  off  right.  "'Zis 
wachecall  drung  ?  "  (Is  this  what  you  call  drunk  ?) 

"  Can  ye  walk  ?  "  ^ —  He  recognized  the  voice  of  his 
friend  Tucket.  —  "It's  too  bad  to  leave  him  here, 
boys.  We  must  get  him  to  his  berth  'fore  he's  any 
worse." 

"Zhue,  Sef?"  (Is  it  you,  Seth  ?)  Frank,  with  the 
help  of  his  friend,  got  upon  his  feet.  "  No,  I  don' 
breeve  I'm  drung ;  I  be  bernaliddlewile  ;  "  meaning  to 
say  he  did  not  believe  he  was  intoxicated,  and  to 
express  his  conviction  that  he  would  be  better  in  a 
little  while. 

Seth  repeated  his  first  inquiry. 

"  Izzindee !  I  kung  wong ! "  (Yes,  indeed,  I  can 
walk.)  And  Frank,  as  if  to  demonstrate  the  absurd- 
ity of  the  pretence,  went  stumbling  loosely  over  the 
freight,  saved  from  falling  only  by  the  assistance  of  his 
friend. 

"  Here's  the  ladder,"  said  Tucket ;  "  now  be  care- 
ful," 

"'M  I  goung  upthlarer,  or  'm  I  goung  downth- 
larer?"  (Was  he  going  up  the  ladder,  or  was  he 
going  down  the  ladder  ?) 


IN    WHICH    FRAliK    SEES    STRANGE    THINGS.        183 

Tucket  proceeded  to  show  him  that  the  ladder  was 
to  be  ascended ;  and,  directing  him  how  to  hold  on, 
and  how  to  place  his  feet,  boosted  him  gently,  while  a 
comrade  above  drew  him  also  gently,  until  he  was  got 
safely  out. 

"  I  did  that  perry  well ! "  said  Frank.  "  Now  lemme  • 
hell  Sef r"  (Now  let  me  help  Seth.)  "  You're  a  bully 
feUel,  Sef.     I'll  hellup  ye  ! " 

"Thank  ye,  boy,"  said  Tucket;  indulging  him  in 
the  ludicrous  notion  that  he  was  helping  his  friends. 
"Much  obliged." 

"Nod  tall!"  (Not  at  all,)  said  Frank.  "BuUyfel- 
lels  like  youme  mushellpitchuthth."  (Must  help  each 
other.)     "You  unstan  me,  Sef?" 

"  Yes,  I  understand  you.  But  keep  quiet  now,  and 
come  along  with  me." 

So  saying,  the  athletic  soldier  threw  his  arm  af- 
fectionately around  Frank,  hurried  him  away  to  his 
bunk,  and  tumbled  him  into  it  without  much  cere- 
mony. 

Not  unobserved,  however.  Captain  Edney,  who 
had  had  an  anxious  eye  on  Frank  of  late,  saw  him 
retire  to  his  quarters  in  this  rather  suspicious  man- 
ner. 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?"  he  inquired  of 
Seth. 

"Nothing    very    serious,    I    believe,    sir,"    replied 


184  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

Tucket,  with  the  most  perfect  seriousness.  "A  7it 
tie  seasick,  or  sunthin  of  the  kind.  He'll  git  over  it 
in  a  jiffy." 

The  waves  were  not  running  sufficiently  high  in  the 
sound,  however,  to  render  the  theory  of  seasickness 
'very  plausible ;  and,  to  satisfy  his  mind.  Captain  Ed- 
ney  approached  Frank's  bunk,  putting  to  him  the 
same  question. 

Frank  replied  in  scarcely  intelligible  language,  with 
a  swimming  gaze,  tending  to  the  cross-eyed,  at  the 
captain,  "that  there  was  nothing  in  partiggler  the 
mare  with  him,  but  he  was  very  busy. 

"  Busy  ?  "  said  Captain  Edney,  severely  ;  "  what  do 
you  mean  ?  " 

"  Not  busy  ;  but  busy^  busy  !  "  repeated  Frank. 

"  You  mean  dizzy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thad's  it !  bizzy."  He  had  somehow  got 
boozy   and   dizzy  mixed  up. 

"  What   makes   you   dizzy  ?  " 

"Boys  gimme   some   drink,  I   donowat." 

"  The  boys  gave  you  some  drink  ?  You  don't  know 
what  ?  —  Tucket,"  said  Captain  Edney,  "  what's  all 
this  ?     Who  has  been  getting  that  boy  drunk  ?  " 

Seth  perceived  that  any  attempt  to  disguise  the 
truth  would  be  futile,  except  so  far  as  it  might  be 
possible  by  ingenious  subtleties  to  shield  his  com- 
panions.    The  alarm,  he  believed,  must  have  reached 


IN    WHICH    FRANK    SEES    STKANGE    THINGS.        185 

them  by  this  time,  and  have  scattered  the.  group  at 
the  whiskey  barrel ;  so  he  answered  boldly,  — 

"  The  fact  sir,  is  jest  this.  ^Ye^•e  beon  about  halt 
crazy  for  water,  as  you  know,  for  the  past  week  or 
two  ;  and  men'll  do  almost  any  thing  for  relief,  under 
Buch  circumstances.  It  got  rumored  around,  some- 
how, that  there  was  plenty  of  water  in  the  vessel,  and 
the  boys  went  to  hunting  ^or't,  and  stumbled  on  the 
quartermaster's  stores,  and  tapped  a  few  casks,  I  be- 
heve,  mostly  sirup,  but  one  turned  out  to  be  whiskey. 
Dry  as  we  be,  it's  no  more'n  nat'ral  't  we  should^ 
drink  a  drop,  under  the  circumstani^es." 

«  Who  tapped  the  casks  ?  " 

«  That's  more  'n  I  know.     I  didn't  see  it  done,"  said 

Seth. 

«  Who  drank  ?  " 

«I  drinked  a  little,  for  one;  jest  enough  to  know 

'twan't  water." 

"And  how  many  of  you  are    drunk?"  demanded 

Captain  Edney. 

"I  a'n't,  for  one.  But  I  believe  Manly  is  a  Kttle 
liow-come  ye-so.  I'll  say  tliis  for  him,  though:  he 
had  nothing  to  do  with  tapping  the  casks,  and  he 
didn't  seem  to  know  what  it  was  the  boys  gin  him 
He  was  dry;  it  tasted  sweet,  and  he  drinked, 
uat'rally." 

«  Who  gave  him  the  whiskey  ?  " 


186  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  I  didn't  notice,  particularly,"  said  Seth. 

His  accomplices  were  summoned,  the  quartermaster 
was  notified,  and  the  affiiir  was  still  further  investi- 
gated. All  confessed  to  having  tasted  the  liquor,  but 
nobody  knew  who  tapped  the  casks,  or  who  had  given 
the  whiskey  to  Frank,  and  all  had  the  same  plausible 
excuse  for  their  offence  —  intolerable  thirst.  It  was 
impossible,  where  all  were  leagued  together,  and  all 
seemed  equally  culpable,  to  single  out  the  ringleaders 
for  punishment,  and  it  was  not  desirable  to  punish 
all.  After  a  while,  therefore,  the  men  were  dismissed 
•with  a  reprimand,  and  the  subject  postponed  indefi- 
nitely'. That  very  afternoon  forty  barrels  of  water 
came  on  board,  and  the  men  had  no  longer  a  pretext 
for  tapjDing  casks  in  the  hold ;  and  a  few  days  later 
was  the  battle,  in  which  they  v/iped  out  by  their 
bravery   all   memory   of  past   transgressions. 

And  Frank  ?  The  muss,  as  the  boys  called  it,  was 
over  before  his  senses  recovered  from  their  infinite 
bewilderment.  He  lay  stupefied  in  his  bunk,  which 
went  whirling  round  and  round  with  him,  sinking 
doAvn  and  down  and  down,  into  void  and  bottomless 
chaos,  where  solid  earth  was  none  —  type  of  the 
drunkard's  moral  state,  where  virtue  has  lost  its 
foot-hold,  and  there  is  no  firm  ground  of  self- 
respect,  and  conscience  is  a  loos^ed  ledge  toppling 
treacherously,  and  there  is  no  steady  hope  to  stay  his 


IN    WHICH    FKANK    SEES    STKAXGE    THINGS.         187 

horrible  whirling  and  sinking.  Stupefaction  became 
sleep ;  with  sleep  inebriation  passed ;  and  Frank 
awoke   to   misery. 

It  was  evening.  The  boys  were  playing  cards 
again  by  the  light  of  the  ship's  lantern.  The  noise 
and  the  ghmmer  reached  Frank  in  his  berth,  and 
called  him  back  to  time  and  space  and  memory.  He 
remembered  his  watch,  his  insolent  rej^ly  to  his  old 
friend  Sinjin,  the*fecene  in  the  hold  of  the  vessel,  the 
sweet-tasting  stuff,  and  the  dizziness,  a  strange  ladder 
somewhere  which  he  had  either  climbed  or  dreamed  of 
climbing ;  and  he  thought  of  his  mother  and  sisters 
with  a  pang  like  the  sting  of  a  scorpion.  He  could 
bear  any  thing  but  that. 

He  got  up,  determined  not  to  let  vain  regrets  tor- 
ment him.  He  shut  out  from  his  mind  those  pure 
images  of  home,  the  presence  of  which  was  maddening 
to  him.  Having  stepped  so  deep  into  guilt,  he  would 
not,  he  could  not,  turn  back.  For  Frank  carried  even 
into  his  vices  that  steadiness  of  resolution  which  dis- 
tin<ruishes  such  natures  from  those  of  the  Jack  Winch 
stamp,  Avnvering  and  fickle  alike  in  good  and-  ill.  He 
]  ossessed  that  perseverance  and  purpose  wliich  go  to 
form  either  the  best  and  noblest  men,  or,  turned  to 
evil,  the  most  hardy  and  efficient  villains.  Frank  was 
no  milksop.  ■-' 

"O,  Fm  all  right,"  said  he,  with  a  reckless  laugh,  in 


188  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

reply  to  bis  comrades'  bantering.     "  Give  me  a  cbance 
tbere  —  can't  yoii  ?  " 

For  be  was  bent  on  winning  back  bis  watcb.  It 
seemed  tbat  notbing  sbort  of  tbe  impossible  could 
tarn  bim  aside  from  tbat  intent.  Tbe  players  made 
room  for  bim,  and  be  prepared  bis  counters,  and  took 
up  bis  cards. 

"  Wbat  do  you  do,  Frank  ?  "  was  asked  impatiently ; 
all, were  waiting  for  bim. 

Wbat  ailed  tbe  boy?  He  beld  bis  cards,  but  be 
was  not  looking  at  tbem.  His  eyes  were  not  on  tbe 
board,  nor  on  bis  companions,  nor  on  any  object  tbere. 
But  be  was  staring  witb  a  pallid,  intense  expression  — 
at  sometbing.  Tbere  were  anguisb,  and  alarm,  and 
yearning  affection  in  bis  look.  His  bnir  was  dis- 
ordered, bis  countenance  was  wbite  and  amazed ; 
bis  comrades  were   astonlsbed   as  tbey  watcbed  bim. 

«  Wbat's  tbe  matter,  Frank  ?  wbat's  tbe  matter  ?  " 

Tbeir  importunity  brougbt  bim  to  bimself 

"  Did  you  see  ?  "  be  asked  in  a  wbisper. 

Tbey  bad  seen  notbing  tbat  be  bad  seen.  Tben 
it  was  all  an  illusion  ?  a  fragment  of  bis  drunken 
dreams  ?  But  no  drunken  dream  was  ever  like 
that. 

"  Yes,  I'll  play,"  be  said,  trying  to  collect  bimself; 
tbinking  tbat  be  would  forget  tbe  illusion,  and  remem 
bering  be  ba^  bis  watcb  to  win  back. 


IN    WHICH    FRANK    SEES    STRAXftE    THINGS.         189 

But  his  henrt  fjiilecl  him.  His  brain,  his  hand  failed 
him  also.     Absolutely,  he  could  not  play.  • 

"  Boys,  I'm  not  very  wel  .  Excuse  me  —  I  can't 
play  to-night." 

And  hesitatingly,  like  a  person  who  has  been 
stunned,  he  got  up,  and  left  the  place.  Few  felt 
inclined  to  jeer  him.  John  Winch  began  to  say 
something  about  "  the  parson  going  to  pray,"  but  it 
was  frowned  down. 

Frank  went  on  deck.  The  evening  was  mild,  the 
wind  was  south,  the  sky  was  clear  a^id  stany ;  it  was 
like  a  May  night  in  New  England.  The  schooner  was 
riding  at  anchor  in  the  sound  ;  other  vessels  of  the 
fleet  lay  around  her,  rocking  gently  on  the  tide  —  dim 
hulls,  with  glowing,  fiery  eyes;  and  here  there  was  a 
band  playing,  and  from  afar  off  came  the  sound  of 
solemn  singing,  wafted  on  the  wind.  And  the  water 
was  all  a  weltering  waste  of  waves  and  molten 
stars. 

But  little  of  all  this  Frank  saw,  or  heard,  or  heeded. 
His  soul  was  rapt  from  him ;  he  was  lost  in  wonder 
and  grief. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  any  thing  ?  "  said  a  voice  at  his 
side. 

"  O,  Atwater,"  said  Frank,"  clutching  his  hand, 
"  what  does  it  mean  ?  As  I  was  playing,  I  saw  — 
I  saw  —  every  tiling  else  disappeared ;  cards,  count- 


190  THE    DRU>fAlEn    BOY. 

era,  the  bencli  we  were  playing  on,  and  tliere  before 
me,  as  phiinly  as  I  ever  saw  any  thing  in  my  life " 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  asked  Atwater,  as  Frank  paused, 
unable  to  proceed. 

"  My  sister  Hattie,"  then  said  Frank,  in  a  whisj^er 
of  awe,  "  in  her  coffin  !  in  her  shroud  !  But  she  did 
not  seem  dead  at  all.  She  was  white  as  the  purest 
snow;  and  she  smiled. up  at  me  —  such  a  sweet,  sad 
^mile  —  O  !  O  !  " 

And  Frank  wi'un^  his  hands. 


XVIII. 

BITTER  THINGS. 

Atwater  could  not  have  said  much  to  comfort 
him,  even  if  he  had  had  the  ojportunity.  Some 
young  fellows  who  had  heard  of  Frank's  losses  at 
bluff,  and  of  his  intoxication,  saw  him  on  deck,  and 
came  crowding  around  to  have  some  jokes  with  him. 
Atwater  retired.  And  Frank,  who  had  little  relish 
for  jokes  just  then,  went  below,  and  got  into  his  berth, 
where  he  could  be  quiet,  and  think  a  little. 

But  thinking  alone  there  with  his  conscience  was 
torture  to  him.  He  turned  on  his  bed,  and  looked, 
and  saw  Atwater  sitting  in  his  bunk,  Vvdth  a  book  in 
his  hand,  reading  by  the  dim  light.  The  card-playing 
was  going  on  close  by,  and  jokes  and  oaths  and 
laughter  were  heard  on  all  sides ;  but  Atwater  heeded 
no  one,  and  no  one  heeded  him. 

Only  Frank :  he  regarded  the  still,  earnest  soldier  a 
long  time,  silently  admiring  his  calmness  and  strength, 
so  perfectly  expressed  in  his  mild,  firm,  kindly,  taci- 
turn face,  and  wondering  what  book  he  had. 

(191) 


192  'THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"What  are  you  reading,  Atwater?"  be  at  length 
asked. 

"  My  Bible,"  replied  the  soldier,  giving  him  a  grave, 
pleasant  smile. 

Frank  felt  pained,  —  almost  jealous.  I  can't  tell 
how  it  is,  but  we  don't  like  too  well  the  sight  of  our 
companions  cheerfully  performing  those  duties  which 
we  neglect  or  hate.     Cain  slew  Abel  for  that  cause. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  read  that,"  said  Frank. 

"  I  never  have  too  much.     But  my  wife ''    The 

soldier's  voice  always  sunk  with  a  pecuharly  tender 
thrill  whenever  he  spoke  ot  his  bride  of  an  hour,  or 
rather  of  a  minute,  whom  he  had  wedded  and  left  in 
such  haste.  "  She  slipped  a  Bible  in  my  knapsack 
unbeknown  to  me.  I  had  a  letter  from  her  to-day, 
in  which  she  asks  me  if  I  read  it.  So  I  must  read  it, 
and  say  yes,  if  only  to  pl#nse  her.  But  the  truth  is," 
said  Atwater,  with  a  brightening  eye,  "  I  find  good  in 
it  I  never  thought  was  there  before." 

Frank  had  no  word  to  answer  him.  Conscience- 
stricken,  sick  at  heart,  miserable  as  he  could  be,  he 
could  only  lie  there  in  his  berth,  and  look  at  the 
brave  soldier,  and  envy  him. 

Pie  remembered  hovv',  not  long  ago,  wlien  his  moth- 
er's wighes  were  more  to  him  than  they  had  been  of 
late,  ■  he  had  desired  to  read  his  Testament  for  her 
sake,  but  had  not  dared  to  do  so  openly,  fearing  the 


BITTER    THINGS.  193 

sneers  of  his  comrades.  And  his  mother,  in  erery 
letter,  repeated  her  injunction,  "My  son,  read  your 
Testament ; "  —  which  had  become  to  him  as  the  idle 
wind.  For  never  noAv,  .either  by  stealth  or  openly, 
did  he  read  that  book. 

Yet  here  was  this  plain,  honest  soldier,  —  many 
called  him  dull,  —  for  whom  a  word  from  one  he  loved 
was  sufficient;  he  took  the  book  as  if  that  Avord 
were  law.  And  the  looks,  the  jests,  which  Frank  had 
feared,  were  nothing  to  him. 

Ashamed,  remorseful,  angry  with  himself,  the  boy 
lay  thinking  what  he  should  do.  A  few  bitter  mo- 
ments only.  Then,  opening  his  knapsack,  he  took  out 
his  Testament,  and  sitting  in  his  bunk  so  that  the 
light  would  shine  on  the  page,  opened  it  and  read. 
His  companions  saw,  and  were  surprised  enough.  But 
nobody  jeered.     What  was  the  reason,  I  wonder  ? 

And  this  was  what  Frank  read.  Written  on  a 
blank  leaf,  with  a  pencil,  in  his  own  hand,  were  these 
words :  — 

'■'•I do  noio  solemnly  promise  my  mother  and  sisters 
thaU  when  I  am  %7i  the  army,  I  vnll  never  he  guilty 
of  simearing,  or  gambling,  or  drinking,  or  any  other 
mean  thing  I  hnova  they  \rould  not  apjyrove  of.  And 
I  do  solemnly  pledge  my  word  that  they  shall  sooner 
hear  of  my  death  thaji  of  my  being  guilty  of  any  of 
those  things.  Frank  Manly." 

13 


l94  THE    DRtJMilEIi    BOY. 

And  beneath  those  words  were  written  these  aIso, 
in  his  mother's  hand  :  — 

"  0  heavenly  Father  !  I  beseech  Thee^  help  my  dectr 
son  to  Tceep  his  promises.  Give  him,  strength  to  resist 
temptation.  Save  him^  I  pray  Thee^  from  those  loho 
kill  the  body^  but  above  all  from  those  wliO  kill  the  soxd. 
If  it  be  Thy  gracious  icill^  let  him  pass  safely  through 
whatever  evils  may  beset  him^  and  return  to  us  uncon- 
taminated  and  unhurt.  JBut  if  this  may  not  be^  then, 
Oy  our  Saviour !  take  him.,  take  my  precious  child.,  I 
implore  Thee^pure  unto  Thyself.  And  help  us  all  so 
to  live,  that  ice  shall  meet  again  in  joy  and  peace,  if 
not  here,  hereafter.     Amen.^^ 

Frank  did  not  turn  that  page,  but  sat  looking  at 
it  long.  And  he  saw  something  besides  the  words 
there  T\Titten.  He  saw  himself  once  more  a  boy  at 
home,  the  evening  before  his  enlistment;  pencil  in 
hand,  ^vriting  that  solemn  promise  ;  his  mother  watch- 
ing near ;  the  bright  face  of  his  sister  Helen  yonder, 
shadowed  by  the  thought  of  his  going;  the  little  i in- 
valid Hattie  on  the  lounge,  her  sad  face  smiling-  very 
much  as  he  saw  it  smiling  out  just  now  from  the 
flowers  in  the  coffin. 

He  saw  his  mother  also,  pencil  in  hand,  writing 
that  prayer,  —  her  countenance  full  of  anxious  love 
and  tears,  her  gentle  lips  tremulous  with  blessings. 
He  saw  her  come  to  his  bed  in  the  moonlight  night, 


BITTER    THINGS.  195 

when  last  he  slept  there  with  little  Willie  at  his  side, 
as  maybe  he  will  never  sleep  again.  And  Lie  heard 
her  counsels  and  entreaties,  as  she  knelt  there  beside 
him;  and  felt  her  kisses;  and  lived  over  once  more 
the  thoughts  of  that  night  after  she  was  gone,  aiA 
when  he  lay  sleepless  with  the  moonlight  on  his 
bed. 

But  here  he  was  now  —  not  away  there  in  the  room 
at  home,  but  here,  among  soldiers,  on  shipboard.  And 
the  pure,  innocent  Frank  of  that  night  lived  no  more. 
And  all  those  promises  had  been  broken,  one  by  one. 
And  he  knew  not  what  to  do,  he  was  so  miserable. 

Yet  —  the  sudden  thought  warmed  and  thrilled  his 
breast  —  he  might  be  pure  as  then,  he  might  be 
innocent  as  then,  and  all  the  stronger  for  having 
known  what  temj^tation  was,  and  fallen,  and  risen 
again.  And  he  might  keep  those  promises  in  a 
higher  and  nobler  sense  than  he  dreamed  of  when 
he  made  them;  and  his  mother's  prayer  might,  after 
all,  be  answered. 

"  Frank,"  said  the  voice  of  Captain  Edney.  He 
had  come  to  visit  the  quarters  of  his  company,  and, 
seeing  the  boy  sitting  there  so  absorbed,  his  young 
face  charged  with  thought  and  grief,  had  stopped 
6ome  moments  to  regard  him,  without  speaking. 

Frank  started,  almost  like  a  guilty  person,  and  gave 
Vho  military  salute  rather  awkwardly  as  he  got  upon 


196  THE    DRUMMER    BOY 

his  feet.  He  had  been  secretly  Areading  jOaptain 
Edney's  displeasure,  and  now  he  thought  he  was  to 
be  called  to  an  account. 

"I  have  something  for  you  in  my  room,"  said  the 
oflEicer,  with  a  look  of  serious  reserve,  unlike  the  cheer- 
ful, open,  brotherly  glance  with  which  he  formerly 
regarded  the  drummer  boy. 

Frank  accompanied  him,  wondering  what  that  some- 
thing was.  A  reproof  for  his  drunkenness,  or  for 
gambling  away  the  watch,  he  expected  more  than 
any  thing  else ;  and  his  heart  was  heavy  by  the  way. 

"Did  you  know  a  mail  came  on  board  to-day?" 
said  the  captain,  as  they  entered  his  state-room. 

Frank  remembered  hearing  Atwater  say  he  had 
that  day  got  a  letter  from  his  wife.  But  his  mind 
had  been  too  much  agitated  by  other  things  to  con- 
sider the  subject  then. 

"No,  sir,  I  didn't  know  it." 

"  How  happens  that  ?  You  are  generally  one  of  the 
most  eager  to  receive  letters." 

Frank  hung  his  head.  What  answer  could  he 
make  ?  That  he  was  intoxicated  in  his  berth  when 
the  mail  arrived?  A  sweat  of  shame  covered  him. 
He  was  sileni. 

"  Well,  well,  my  boy  ! "  —  Captain  Edney  patted 
him  gently  on  the  shoulder,  —  "you  are  forgiven  this 
time.     I  am  sure  you  did  not  mean  to  get  drunk." 


BITTER    THINGS.  197 

"  O,  sir  ! "    began  Frank,   but  stopped  there,   over 
whelmed  by  the  captain's  kindness. 

"  I  know  all  about  it,"  said  Captain  Edney.  "  Tuck 
et  assures  me  that  he  and  the  rest  were  more  to  blame 
than  you.  But,  for  the  sake  of  your  friends,  Frank, 
take  warning  by  this  experience,  and  never  bo  be- 
trayed  into  any  thing  of  the  kind  again.  I  trust  you. 
And  here,  my  boy,  are  your  letters." 

He  put  half  a  dozen  into  Frank's  hands.  And 
Frank,  as  he  took  them,  felt  his  very  heart  melt  with- 
in him  with  gratitude  and  contrition.  He  was  not 
thinking  so  much  of  the  letters  as  of  Captain  Edney 
and  his  watch. 

"  Forgive  me  ;  forgive  me  ! "  he  humbly  entreated. 

"  I  do,  freely,  as  I  told  you,"  said  the  captain. 

"  But  —  the  watch  you  gave  me  ! " 

"Dear  boy!"  —  the  captain  put  his  arm  kindly 
about  him,  —  "  haven't  I  always  told  you  I  knew 
nothing  about  the  watch  ?  I  did  not  give  it  to  you, 
nor  do  I  know  what  generous  friend  did." 

"It  is  true,  then?"  Frank  looked  up  with  a  half- 
glad,  half-disappointed  expression.  He  was  disap- 
pointed to  know  that  so  good  a  friend  was  not  the 
donor  of  the  watch,  and  yet  glad  that  he  had  not 
wronged  him  by  gambling  it  awa}'.  "Then,  Captain 
Edney,  I  wish  }  du  would  tell  me  what  to  do.     1  have 


198  THE    DEUMMER    BOY. 

done  the  wcrst  and  meanest  thing.  I  have  lost  the 
watch." 

And  he  went  on  to  rekte  how  he  had  lost  it. 
Captain  Edney  heard  him  with  deep  concern.  He 
had  all  along  felt  a  sense  of  responsibility  for  the  boy 
Mrs.  Manly  bad  intrusted  to  him,  as  well  as  a  gen- 
uine affection  for  him ;  he  had  therefore  double  cause 
to  be  pained  by  this  unexpected  development. 

"  Frank,"  said  he,  "  I  am  glad  I  did  not  first  hear 
this  story  from  any  body  else;  and  I  am  glad  that 
the  proof  of  your  thorough  repentance  accompanies 
the  confession.  That  breaks  the  pain  of  it.  To- 
morrow I  will  see  what  can  be  done  about  the  watch. 
Perhaps  we  shall  get  it  again.  To-night  I  have  only 
one  piece  of  advice  to  give.  Don't  think  of  winning 
it  back  with  cards." 

"  Then  how  shall  I  ever  get  it  ? "  asked  Frank,  in 
despair.  For  he  did  not  wish  his  mother  to  know  of 
the  circumstances;  and  to  buy  the  watch  back  when 
he  was  paid  off  again,  would  be  to  withhold  money 
which  he  felt  belonged  to  her. 

Captain  Edney  could  not  solve  the  difficulty;  and 
with  that  burden  upon  his  mind,  Fi-ank  returned  to 
his  bunk  with  his  letters. 

He  bent  over  them  with  doubt  and  foreboding. 
The  first  he  selected  was  from  his  mother.  Vs  he 
opened  it,  his  eye  caught  these  words :  — 


BITTER    THINGS.  199 

"...  He  says  that  you  beat  some  of  the  worst  men 
]n  the  regiment  at  their  own  vices.  He  says  you  are 
g(3nerally  smoking,  except  when  you  take  out  your 
pipe  to  swear.  According  to  his  account,  you  are 
one  of  the  profanest  of  the  profane.  And  he  tells  of 
your  going  with  others  to  steal  turkeys  of  a  seces- 
sionist in  Maryland,  and  how  you  got  out  of  the 
scrape  by  the  most  downright  lying.  He  gives  the 
story  so  circumstantially  that  I  cannot  think  he  in- 
vented it,  but  am  compelled  to  believe  there  is  some- 
thing in  it.  O,  my  child,  is  it  possible  ?  Ill  as  your 
sister  is,  to  hear  these  things  of  you  is  a  greater  trial 
than  the  thought  of  parting  with  her  so  soon.  Have 
you  forgotten  your  promises  to  me?  Have  you  for- 
gotten   " 

Frank  could  read  no  more.  He  gnashed  his  teeth 
together,  and  held  them  tight,  like  a  person  struggling 
against  some  insupportable  pain.  His  sister  so  ill? 
That  was  Hattie.  He  saw  the  name  written  farther 
back.  "  He  says,"  —  "  according  to  his  account,"  — 
who  was  it  sending  home  such  stories  about  him? 
He  glanced  up  the  page,  until  his  eye  fell  upon  the 
name. 

'-'John  Winch " 

O,  but  this  was  too  much !  To  be  accused  of 
swearing  by  hi77i  /  To  be  charged  with  stealing  by 
one   who  went  with  him   to  steal,  and  did  not,  only 


200  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

because  he  was  a  coward !  Frank  felt  an  impulse  to 
fall  instantly  upon  that  wi'etched  youth,  and  choke  the 
unmanly  life  out  of  him.  John  was  at  that  moment 
writing  a  letter  undjer  the  lantern,  probably  filling  it 
with  more  tales  about  him ;  —  and  couldn't  he  tell 
some  great  ones  now  !  —  grinning,  too,  as  he  wrote ; 
quite  unaware  what  a  tiger  was  watching  him,  athirst 
for  his  blood. 

Yes,  Winch  had  got  letters  to-day,  and,  learning 
what  a  lively  sensation  his  stories  of  Frank  created, 
had  set  to  work  to  furnish  the  sequel  to  them;  giving 
interesting  particulars  up  to  latest  dates. 

N".  B.  He  was  writing  on  the  head  of  Frank's 
drum,  which  he  had  borrowed  for  the  purpose.  He 
had  written  his  previous  letters  on  the  same.  It  was 
a  good  joke,  he  thought,  to  get  the  boy  he  was  abus- 
ing to  contribute  some  needful  assistance  towards  the 
work  ;  it  added  a  flavor  to  treachery.  But  Frank  did 
not  so  much  enjoy  the  pleasantry.  He  was  wild  to  be 
beating  the  tattoo,  not  on  the  said  drum,  but  on  the 
head  of  the  rogue  who  was  writing  on  the  drum,  and 
with  his  fists  for  drumsticks. 

But  he  reflected,  "I  shall  only  be  getting  deeper 
into  trouble,  if  I  pitch  into  him.  Besides,  he  is  a  good 
deal  bigger  than  I," — a  powerful  argument  in  favor  of 
forbearance.  "  I'll  wait ;  but  I'll  be  revenged  on  him 
some  way." 


BITTER    THINGS.  201 

Little  did  he  know  —  and  as  little  did  Winch  sur- 
mise—  how  that  revenge  was  to  be  accomplished  ^ 
But  it  was  to  be,  and  soon. 

For  the  present,  Frank  had  other  things  to  think  of. 
He  read  of  Hattie's  fading  away;  of  her  love  for  him; 
and  the  tender  messages  she  sent,  —  perhaps  the  last 
she  would  ever  send  to  him.  And  he  remembered  his 
wonderful  vision  of  her  that  evening.  And  tears  came 
to  cool  and  soften  his  heart. 

And  so  we  quit  him  for  the  night,  leaving  him 
alone  with  his  letters,  his  grief,  and  his  remorse. 


XIX. 

SETH   GETS   ''EILED." 

There  is  in  the  life  of  nearly  every  young  person 
a  turning-point  of  destiny.  It  may  be  some  choice 
which  he  makes  for  himself,  or  which  others  make  foi 
him,  whether  of  occupation,  or  companion,  or  nile  of 
life.  It  may  be  some  deep  thought  which  comes  to 
him  in  solitary  hours,  —  some  seed  of  wisdom  dropped 
from  the  lips  of  teacher,  parent,  or  friend,  sinking 
silently  as  starlight  into  the  soul,  and  taking  immortal 
root  there,  unconsciously,  perhaps,  even  to  himself. 
Now  it  is  the  quickening  of  the  spirit  at  the  sight  of 
God's  beautiful  universe  —  a  rapture  of  love  awakened 
by  a  morning  in  spring,  by  the  blue  infinity  of  the 
sky,  by  the  eternal  loneliness  and  sublimity  of  the 
sea.  Or,  in  some  moment  of  susceptibility,  the  smiles 
of  dear  home  faces,  the  tender  trill  of  a  voice,  a  surge 
of  solemn  music,  may  have  power  over  the  yoUng 
heart  to  change  its  entire  future.  And  again,  it  is 
some  vivid  experience  of  .temptation  and  suffering 
that  shapes  the  great  hereafter.     For  the  Divinity  that 

(202) 


SETH    GETS    "RILED."  203 

maketh  and  loveth  us  is  forever  showering  hints  of 
beauty  and  blessedness  to  win  back  out  wandering 
affections,  —  dropping  cords  of  gentlest  influences  to 
draw  home  again  all  hearts  that  Tvill  come. 

Then  the  spirit  of  the  youth  rises  up  within  him, 
and  says,  — 

"  Whereas  I  was  blind,  now  I  am  beginning  to  see 
And  whereas  I  was  weak,  now,  with  God's  help,  I  will 
Btrive  for  better  things.  Long  enough  have  I  been 
the  companion  of  folly,  and  all  the  days  of  my  life 
have  I  been  a  child.  But  now  I  perceive  that  I  am 
to  become  a  man,  and  I  will  hencef9rth  think  the 
thoughts  and  do  the  deeds  of  a  man." 

Such  an  experience  had  come  to  Frank ;  and  thus, 
on  the  new  morning,  as  he  beheld  it  rise  out  of  the 
sea,  his  spirit  spake  unto  him. 

He  answered  his  mother's  letter,  confessing  that  his 
conduct  had  afforded  only  too  good  a  foundation  for 
Jack's  stories. 

"The  trouble,  I  think,  is,"  said  he,  "that  I  wrote  my 
promises  first  with  a  pencil.  They  did  get  a  little 
nibbed  out  I  own.  I  have  since  taken  a  pen.,  and 
written  them  all  over  again,  word  by  word,  and  letter 
by  letter,  with  ink.  So  you  may  depend  upon  it,  dear 
niotlier,  that  not  another  syllable  of  my  pledge  will 
get  blurred  or  dimmed.,  either  on  the  leaf  of  my  Testa- 
inent.,  or  on  the  page  of  my  heart.     Only  believe  this. 


204  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

and  then  you  may  believe  as  much  as  ycxi  pleiise  of 
what  J.  W.  writes." 

Not  a  word  to  the  same  J]  W.  did  Frank  say  of  the 
base  thing  he  had  done ;  and  as  for  the  revenge  he 
had  vowed,  the  impulse  to  wreak  it  in  tigerish  fashion 
had  passed  like  a  night-fog  before  the  breezy  purity  of 
the  new  life  that  had  dawned. 

In  a  couple  of  days  Frank  had  mostly  recovered  his 
equanimity.  The  loss  of  the  watch  was  still  a  source 
of  anxious  grief  to  him,  however;  less  on  his  own 
account,  let  me  say,  than  for  the  sake  of  the  unknown 
giver.  Nor  had  he,  as  yet,  found  any  opportunity  to 
atone  for  his  rudeness  to  the  old  drum-major,  who  had 
lately,  for  some  cause,  gone  over  to  the  other  wing  of 
the  regiment  on  board  the  steamer,  so  that  Frank 
yearned  in  vain  to  go  to  him  and  iiumbly  beg  forgive- 
ness for  his  fault. 

"  What  has  taken  Mr.  Sinjin  away  ?  "  he  asked  of 
his  friend,  the  young  corporal. 

Gray  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  looked  at  Frank 
as  if  he  had  a  good  mind  to  tell  a  secret. 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  He's  such  a  crotchety  old 
boy.  I  don't  think  he  could  account  for  his  conduct 
himself.  He  asked  permission  to  remove  his  quarters 
to  the  steamer,  and  got  it ;  pretending,  I  believe,  that 
he  could  have  better  accommodations  there." 


SETH    GETS    "  RILED."  205 

"  Aud  I  believe,"  said  Frank,  "  that  you  know  more 
about  it  than  you  will  own." 

"Well,  I  have  my  suspicions.  Shall  I  be  candid 
with  you,  Frank  ?  and  you'll  forgive  me  if  I  hurt  your 
feelings  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Frank,  anxiously. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Gray,  "  I  suppose  you  know  Sin- 
jin  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  you." 

"I  thought  at  one  time  he  liked  me." 

«  At  one  time  ?  I'll  wager  my  head  he  was  liking 
you  the  most  when  he  appeared  to  the  least  —  he's 
such  a  queer  old  cove !  I've  heard  he  was  disap- 
pointed in  love  once,  and  that  some  friend  of  his 
proved  traitor  to  him  ;  and  that's  what  has  made  him 
so  shy  of  showing  any  thing  like  affection  for  any 
body.  Well,  he  heard  of  your  gambling,  and  Avent  to 
talk  with  you  about  it,  and  you  said  something  to  him 
that  wounded  him  so  I  think  he  couldn't  bear  the 
sight  of  you  afterwards." 

The  boy's  heart  was  wrung  by  this  revelation. 
What  reason,  he  demanded  to  know,  had  Gray  for 
thinking  thus? 

"Because  I  ^now  the  man,  and  because  I  know 
something  which  I  think  you  ought  to  know."  Gray 
drew  Frank  confidentially  aside.  "He  may  anathema- 
tize me  for  betraying  his  secret ;  but  I  think  it  is  time 


206  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

to  do  him  justice,  even  against  his  will.  Frank,  it  was 
Old  Sinjin  who  gave  you  the  watch." 

Frank's  heart  leaped  up,  but  fell  again  instantly, 
convulsed  with  pain  and  regret. 

"  Are  you  sure,  Gray  ?  " 

"  Sure  as  this  :  I  was  with  him  when  he  bought  the 
watch  in  Annapolis.  I  helped  him  do  it  up  in  the 
wrappers.  And  it  was  I  that  pitched  it  into  the 
tent  at  you  Thanksgiving-day  evening.  That  is  being 
pretty  sure  —  isn't  it  ?  " 

"And   he   knows   that   I   lost   it?"   said  Frank. 

"  He  had  just  h^ard  so  when  he  went  to  speak  with 
you  about  gambling." 

"  And  I  told  him  it  was  none  of  his  business,"  said 
Frank,  remorsefully.  "  O,  he  will  never  forgive  me 
now  ;  and  who  can  blame  him  ?  Good  old  man !  dear, 
good  old  man !  My  mother  told  me  to  be  always  very 
kind  to  him  —  and  how  have  I  repaid  his  goodness  to 
me!" 

It  seemed  now  that  the  boy  could  not  control  his 
impatience  until  once  more  he  had  seen  his  benefactor, 
confessed  all  to  him,  and  heard  him  say  he  was  for- 
given for  his  unkindness  and  ingratitllde. 

But  the  old  drummer  still  remained  on  board  the 
steamer.  And  Frank  had  only  this  faith  to  comfort 
him  —  that    if    his   repentance   was   since  'o,   and   he 


SETH    GETS    "  RILED."  207 

henceforth  did  only  what  was  right,  all  would  yet  he 
well. 

The  next  morning  he  was  viewing  the  sunrise  from 
the  deck,  when  Seth  Tucket  came  to  his  side. 

" '  Once  more  upon  the  waters !  yet  once  more  I 
and  the  waves  bound  beneath  me  as  the  steed  that 
knows  his  rider  —  welcome  to  their  roar ! '  Only  they 
don't  bound  much,  and  they  don't  roar  to-day,"  said 
Seth.  "  The  boys  have  found  out  it's  Sunday ;  and  as 
we're  to  have  a  battle  'fore  the  week's  out,  they  seem 
to  think  it's  about  as  well  to  remember  there's  a  dif- 
ference in  days.     How  are  you,  Manly  ?  " 

"  Better,"  said  Frank,  with  a  smile. 

"  Happy  ?  "  —  with  a  grimace  meant  to  be  sympa,- 
thizing,  but  which  was  droll  enough  to  be  laughable. 

"Happier  than  I  was,"  said  the  drummer  boy. 
"Happier   than   I've   been   for   a  long   time." 

"  What !  not  happier,  now  you've  lost  every  thing, 
than  when  you  was  hevin'  such  luck  at  play  ?  " 

"I  wasn't  happy  then.  I  thought  I  was.  But  I 
was  only  excited.  I  am  happier  now  that  I've  lost 
every  thing ;  it's  true.  Tucket." 

"Well,  I  swan  to  man  !  I  thought  you  was  mourn- 
ing over  your  luck,  and  I  was  bringing  ye  sunthin'  to 
kind  o'  cheer  ye  up.  Glad  to  hear  you've  no  need. 
Fine   day,   but  rather   wmdy.      Wonder  what's   the 

time ! " 

/ 


208  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

So  saying,  Seth  drew  out  the  watch,  and  regarded 
it  with  provoking  coolness. 

"I'm  plagued  ef  the  darned  thing  hain't  run  down! 
Say,  Frank,  ye  couldn't  think  of  throwin'  in  the  key, 
too  —  could  ye  ?  I  can't  wind  her  up  Avithout  a 
key." 

Frank  choked  a  little,  but  his  look  was  cheei-ful,  as 
he  put  his  hand  in  his  jDOcket,  and,  without  a  word, 
delivered  over  to  the  new  owner  of  the  watch  the  key 
also. 

"  Thank  ye  ;  much  obleeged  ;  "  and  Seth  "  wound 
her  up"  with  extraordinary  parade.  Then  he  shook 
it,  and  held  it  to  his  ear.  Then  he  said,  "  All  right ! 
she's  a  puttin'  in  again,  lickety-switch  !  Good  watch, 
that."  Then  he  set  it  "by  guess."  Then  he  was 
returning  it  to  his  pocket,  when  a  new  thought 
seemed  to  strike  him. 

"  What  do  ye  do  for  a  watch-pocket,  Frank  ?  Gov'- 
ment  don't  provide  watch-pockets,  seems." 

"  I  made  one  for  myself,"  said  Frank.  ^ 

"  Sho  now  !  ye  didn't,  though  —  did  ye  ?  What 
with?" 

"  With  a  needle  and  thread  I  brought  from  home, 
and  with  another  old  pocket,"  said  Frank. 

"Well,  you  air  the  cutest!  Say,  what '11  ye  tax  to 
make  me  one?  I  don't  care  to  hev  it  very  large ;  a 
small  watch,  so." 


SETH    GETS    "RILED."  209 

A  -dry  proposal,  that.  It  was  not  enough  to  furnish 
watch  and  watch-key;  but  Frank  was  reqmred  also 
to  provide  a  watch-pocket. 

"What  do  ye  say?"  asked  Seth,  with  a  shrewd 
squint. 

"  I'll  make  you  one  for  nothing,"  said  Frank. 

"  Come,  by  darn  ! "  exclaimed  Seth  ;  "  none  o'  that, 
now!" 

«  None  of  what  ?  " 

"  You're  a-trying  my  disposition  !  "  —  And,  indeed, 
Tucket  was  visibly  moved ;  there  was  a  tear  in  liis 
eye  —  a  bona  fide  tear.  "  I've  a  good  disposition, 
nat'rally ;  but  I  shall  git  riled  ef  you  say  much  more. 
I've  got  your  watch,  and  that's  all  right.  I've  got  the 
key,  and  that's  all  right,  too.  But  when  you  talk  of 
makiu'  a  watch-pocket  for  nothin',  I  tell  ye  a  saint 
couldn't  stand  that." 

Frank,  who  thought  he  had  learned  to  know  pretty 
well  the  man's  oddities,  was  puzzled  this  time. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  offend  you.  Tucket." 

"  No,  you  didn't.  And  now  see  here.  Manly.  We'll 
jest  compromise  this  matter,  ef  you've  no  'bjection. 
I've  no  watch-pocket,  and  you've  no  w^atch.  So, 
s'posin'  you  carry  the  watch  for  me,  and  tell  me  what 
time  it  is  when  I  ax  ye  ?  That  won't  be  too  much 
double  —  will  it?" 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  "  asked  Frank. 
14 


210  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

"Yes,  I  be,  cleau  up  to  the  hub.  Tue  truth  is,  I 
can't  carry  that  watch  with  any  kind  o'  comfort,  and 
I'm  bent  on  gitt'n'  it  off  my  hands,  ef  I  hef  to  throw 
it  overboard.  Here !  It's  yours ;  take  it,  and  be 
darned  !  "  said  Seth. 

"  I  was  going  to  propose  to  you,"  —  stammered 
Frank  from  his  too  frill  heart,  — "  to  take  the  watch, 
and  pay  you  fr)r  it  when  I  can." 

"  Ez  fr)r  that,  the  pay's  no  consequence.  I  was 
more  to  l:)lame  than  you;  and  the  loss  ought  to  be 
mine." 

"  But "  insisted  Frank. 

"  ISJ'o  buts !  Besides,  I  never  make  bargains  Sun- 
days." And  Seth  turned  away  abruptly,  leaving  the 
watch  in  Frank's  hand. 

The  boy  would  have  called  him  back,  but  a  rush 
of  emotions — joy,  gratitude,  contrition  —  choked  hia 
voice.  A  dash  of  tears  fell  upon  the  watch  as  he' 
gazed  on  it,  and  pressed  it,  and  would  have  kissed  it, 
had  he  been  alone.  It  was  his  again ;  and  that,  after 
all,  was  an  unalloyed  satisfaction.  He  could  lie  awake 
nights  and  study  days  to  devise  means  to  reward 
Seth's  generosity.  And  he  would  do  it,  he  resolved. 
And  Mr.  Sinjin  should  know  that  he  had  recovered 
the  prize,  and  that  he  held  it  all  the  more  precious 
fiince  he  had  found  out  the  giver. 


XX. 

SUNDAY  BEFORE  THE   BATTLE. 

Feais'k  was  leaning  over  the  rail  of  the  schooner, 
gazing  down  at  the  beautiful  flashing  water,  and  think- 
ing of  home.  It  was  Sunday  there,  too,  he  remem- 
bered ;  and  he  could  almost  hear  the  sweet-toned 
bells  solemnly  chiming,  and  see  the  atmosphere  of 
Sabbath  peace  brooding  over  field  and  village,  and 
feel  the  serious  gladness  of  the  time.  The  folks  were 
getting  ready  for  church.  There  was  his  father, 
sliaved  and  clean,  in  his  black  stock  and  somewhat 
threadbare,  but  still  respectable,  best  coat.  And  there 
was  Helen,  bright  and  blooming,  with  her  bonnet  on, 
and  with  her  Bible  and  question-book  in  her  hand, 
setting  out  for  the  morning  Sunday-school.  His  moth- 
er was  not  going  to  meeting ;  she  was  to  stay  at  home 
with  Hattie,  and  read  to  her,  or,  what  was  better, 
comfort  her  with  aflectionate,  gentle,  confiding  words. 
But  Willie  was  going  with  Helen,  as  he  seemed  anx- 
ious, by  strut,  and  hurry,  and  loud,  impatient  talk, 
to  let  every  body  know.     And  Frank  wished  from  his 

(211) 


212  THE    DRUilZ^IER    BOY. 

heart  that  he  could  be  with  them  that  day ;  and  lie 
wondered,  did  they  miss  him,  and  were  they  thinking 
of  him,  far  off  here  in  Carolina  waters,  alone  in  the 
midst  of  such  crowds  of  men  ? 

"Wouldn't  I  like  to  be  in  that  boat,  boys!"  said 
Kllis.     "  Don't  she  come  dancing  on  the  waves ! " 

"  She's  pulling  towards  us,"  said  Atwater.  "  I  be- 
lieve they're  coming  aboard." 

"  O,  Atwater !  "  cried  Frank,  as  the  boat  drew  near. 
"  There's  a  face  there  I  know  !  One  you  know,  too  ! " 
And  he  clapped  his  hands  with  joy;  for  it  was  a  face 
he  had  seen  in  Boston,  and  he  felt  that  it  came  with 
news  from  home. 

The  rare  brightness  kindled  in  At  water's  eyes  as  he 
gazed,  and  remembered.  The  boat  came  alongside, 
and  hailed  the  schooner.  And  a  man  in  the  bow,  as  it 
rose  upon  a  wave,  seizing  hold  of  the  ladder  of  tarred 
rope,  stepped  quickly  up.on  it,  and  came  on  board, 
cordially  received  by  Captain  Edney,  who  ap^Deared 
to  have  been  expecting  him. 

"It's  the  minister  that  married  Atwater!  "  the  rumor 
ran  round  among  the  troops.  "What's  his  name, 
Frank?" 

"His  name's  Egglestone,"  said  Frank,  his  heait 
swelling  with  anxiety  to  speaK  with  him. 

The  minister  had  come  on  a  mission  of  Christian 
love  to  the  soldiers  of  the  expedition ;  and  having,  thr 


SUNDAY  BEFORE  THE  BATTLE.         213 

day  before,  sent  word  to  Captain  Edney  of  his  arrival, 
he  had  in  return  received  an  invitation  to  visit  the 
schooner  and  preach  to  the  men  this  Sunday  morning. 

A  previous  announcement  that  religious  services 
would  probably  be  held  on  board,  had  excited  little 
interest ;  the  troops  surmising  that  the  chaplain  of  the 
reo-iment,  who  had  never  been  with  them  enough  to 
win  their  hearts  or  awaken  their  attention,  was  tc 
rejoin  them,  and  preach  one  of  his  formal  discourses. 

But  far  different  was  the  feeling  when  it  was  known 
that  the  "  man  that  married  Atwater  "  was  to  conduct 
the  exercises.  Then  the  soldiers  remembered  that 
they  were  New  Englanders ;  and  that  here  also  God's 
Sabbath  shed  its  silent  influence,  far  though  they  were 
from  the  mde  hills  and  rocky  shores  of  home. 

'Tis  curious  how  a  little  leaven  of  memory  will 
sometimes  work  in  the  heart.  Here  was  half  a  regi- 
ment of  men,  who  had  come  to  fight  the  battles  of 
their  country.  As  with  one  accord  they  had  left  the 
amenities  of  peaceful  life  behind  them,  and  assumed 
the  rugged  manners  of  war.  Of  late  they  liad  seemed 
almost  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  God,  and  Christain 
worship,  and  Christian  rules  of  life  were  still  in  ex- 
istence. But  to-day  they  were  reminded.  To-day 
*he  child  was  awakened  — 'the  child  that  had  known 
the  wholesome  New  England  nurture,  that  had  sat  on 
mother's  knee,  and  had  its  earliest  thought  tuned  to 


214  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

the  music  of  Sunday  bells ;  the  child  thnt  Jay  hidden 
ill  the  deej)  heart  of  every  man  of  them,  the  same 
lived  again,  and  looked  forth  from  the  eyes,  and  smiled 
once  more  in  the  softened  visage  of  tlie  man.  And 
the  man  was  carried  back,  far  from  these  strange 
scenes,  far  from  the  relentless  iron  front  of  war,  across 
alien  lands,  and  over  stormy  seas,  —  carried  back  by 
the  child  yearning  within,. —  to  the  old  door  yard,  the 
^dllage  trees,  the  family  fireside,  the  family  pew,  and 
the  hushed  congregation. 

It  was  Mr.  Egglestone's  aim,  in  the  beginning  of 
the  sermon  he  preached  that  morning,  to  remind  the 
soldiers  of  their  childhood.  "Tt  is  a  thought,"  he 
said,  "  which  almost  moves  me  to  tears,  —  that  all 
these  hardy  frames  around  me  were  but  the  soft, 
warm,  dimpled  forms  of  so  many  infants  once.  And 
nearly  every  one  of  you  was,  I  suppose,  watched  over 
by  tender  parents,  who  beheld,  with  mutual  joy,  the 
development  of  each  beautifiil  faculty.  The  first  step 
taken  by  the  babe's  unassisted  feet,  the  first  articulate 
word  spoken  by  the  little  lisping  lips,  —  what  delight 
they  gave,  and  how  long  were  they  remembered  !  And 
what  thoughts  of  the  child's  future  came  day  and  night 
to  those-  parents'  breasts  !  and  of  what  earnest  prayers 
was  it  the  subject !  And  of  all  the  pnronts  of  all  those 
children  who  are  here  as  men  to-day,  not  one  foresaw 
a  scene  like  this ;  none  dreamed  :hat  they  frere  raising 


SUNDAY    BEFORE    THE    BATTLE.  215 

up  patriots  to  fight  for  freedom's  second  birth  on  this 
continent,  in  the  most  stupendous  of  civil  wars. 

"  But  Providence  leads  us  by  strange  ways,  and  by 
hidden  paths  we  come  upon  brinks  of  destiny  which 
no. prophet  foresaw.  Now  the  days  of  peace  are  over. 
Many  of  you  who  Avere  children  are  now  the  fathers 
of  children.  But  your  place  is  not  at  home  to  watch 
over  them  as  you  were  watched  over,  but  to  strive 
by  some  means  to  work  out  a  harder  problem  than 
any  ever  ciphered  on  slates  at  school." 

Then  he  explained  to  his  audience  the  origin  of  the 
\A  ar ;  for  he  believed  it  best  that  every  soldier  should 
understand  well  the  cause  he  was  fighting  for.  He 
spoke   of  the   compact  of  States,  which  could  not  be 

•  rightfully  broken.  He  spoke  of  the  serpent  that  had 
been  nursed  in  the  bosom  of  those  States.  He  related 
how  slavery,  from  being  at  first  a  merely  tolerated  evil, 
which  all  good  men  hoped  soon  to  see  abolished,  had 
grown  arrogant,  aggressive,  monstrous;  until,  angered 
by  resistance  to  its  claims,  it  had  deluged  the  land  with 
blood.  Such  was  the  nature  of  an  institution  based 
upon  selfishness  and  wrong.  And  such  was  the  bitter 
result  of  building  a  lie  into  the  foundations  of  our 
national  structure.     Proclaiming  to  the  world,  as  the 

"^rst  principle  of  our  republican  form  of  government, 
that  "  all  men  are  created  free  and  equal,"  We  had  at 
the  same  time  held  a  race  in  bondage. 


216  THE    DRUMMER    BOY 

"Neither  nation  nor  individual,"  said  he,  "  can  in  any 
noble  sense  succeed,  with  such  rotten  inconsistency 
woven  into  its  life.  It  was  this  shoddy  in  the  garment 
of  our  Goddess  of  Liberty,  w^hich  has  occasioned  the 
rent  which  those  needles  there"  —  pointing  to  some 
bayonets  —  "must  mend.  And  it  is  this  shoddy  of 
contradiction  and  infidelity  which  makes  many  a  man's 
prosperity,  seemingly  substantial  at  first,  promising 
wai-mth  and  wear,  fall  suddenly  to  pieces,  and  leave  his 
soul  naked  to  the  winds  of  heaven." 

It  was  not  so  much  a  sermon  as  a  friendly,  afiection- 
ate,  earnest  talk  with  the  men,  whom  he  sought  to 
counsel  and  encourage.  There  was  a  melting  love  in  his 
tones  which  went  to  their  inmost  souls.  And  when  he 
exhorted  them  to  do  the  work  of  men  who  feared  God, 
but  not  any  mortal  foe,  who  dreaded  dishonor,  but  not 
death,  he  made  every  heart  ring  with  the  stirring 
appeal. 

Then  suddenly  his  voice  sank  to  a  tone  of  solemn 
sweetness,  as  he  said,  — 

"  Peace  !  O,  my  brothers !  struggle  and  violence  are 
not  the  all  of  life.  But  God's  love,  the  love  of  man  to 
man,  hohness,  blessedness,  —  it  is  for  these  realities  we 
are  created,  and  placed  here  on  this  beautiful  earth, 
under  this  blue  sky,  with  human  faces  and  throbbing 
human  hearts  around  us.  And  the  end  of  all  is  peace. 
But  only  through  fiery  trial  and  valiant  doing  can  any 


SUNDAY    BEFORE    THE    BATTLE.  217 

l)eace  worth  the  name  come  to  us ;  and  to  make  the 
future  truly  blessed,  we  must  make  the  present  truly- 
brave." 

Before  and  after  the  discourse  the  men  sang  some  of 
tlie  good  old  tunes  which  all  had  been  familiar  with  at 
home,  and  which  descended  like  warm  rain  upon  the 
ground  where  the  scattered  seed  of  the  sermon  fell. 

The  services  ended,  Mr.  Egglestone  went  freely 
among  the  soldiers,  and  conversed  with  any  who  want- 
ed to  have  speech  of  him;  especially  with  Atwater; 
whose  wife  he  had  seen  a  few  days  before  leaving  Bos- 
ton, where  she  came  to  see  him,  having  learned  who  he 
was,  and  that  he  was  about  departing  for  the  army  in 
which  her  husband  served. 

After  long  waiting,  Frank's  turn  came  at  last.  They 
sat  down  on  a  bench  apart ;  and  the  clergyman  told 
him  he  had  lately  seen  his  mother,  and  that  she  had 
charged  him  with  many  messages.  And  one  was  a 
message  of  sorrow. 

"  She  had  heard  unwelcome  news  of  you,"  he  said, 
holding  the  boy's  hand.  "  And  she  wished  me  to  say 
to  you  what  I  could  to  save  you  from  what  she  dreads 
most  —  what  any  wise,  loving  mother  dreads  most  for 
her  child.  But  is  there  need  of  my  saying  any  thing  ? 
By  what  your  captain  tells  me,  and  still  more  by  what 
your  face  tells  me,  I  am  convinced  that  I  may  spare 
my  words.     You  have  had  in  your  own   experience  a 


218  THE    DRUMiLER   BOY. 

better  lesson  than  anybody  can  teach  you.  You  have 
erred,  you  have  suffered.  And"  —  he  took  a  lettei 
from  his  pocket  —  "I  have  something  here  to  make 
you  remember  what  you  have  learned  —  I  think,  for 
always." 

Frank  had  listened,  humbly,  tremblingly,  full  of  tears 
which  he  did  not  shed  for  the  eyes  that  were  about 
them.  But  now  he  started,  and  took  the  letter  eagerly. 
"  What's  it  ?  any  bad  news  ?  "  for  he  felt  an  alarming 
presentiment. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  is  bad.  If  you  had  seen  what  I 
saw,  you  would  not  think  so  either."  Mr.  Egglestone's 
manner  was  exceedingly  tender,  and  his  voice  was 
liquid  and  low.  "All  is  well  with  your  folks  at  home ; 
both  with  those  who  are  there  as  you  left  them,  and 
with  the  one  whose  true  home  is  not  there  any  longer, 
but  in  a  brighter  land,  we  trust." 

"  O  !  "  —  it  v/as  almost  a  cry  of  pain  that  broke  from 
Frank.     "Hattie?" 

"Yes,  Frank;  it  is  of  Hattie  I  am  speaking.  Sh(3 
has  passed  away.  I  was  present,  and  saw  hor  dvpart. 
And  she  was  very  calm  and  happy,  and  her  last  look 
was  a  smile,  and  her  last  words  were  words  of  hope 
and  love.  The  letter  will  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  recall 
one  thing,  however,  wiiich  I  will  repeat,  since  it  so 
nearly  concerns  you.  They  were  spCciking  of  you. 
And  she  said,  'Maybe  I  shall  see  him  before  any  of 


SUNDAY    BEFORE    THE    BATTLE.  219 

you  will !  Yes ! '  she  added,  her  face  shining  already- 
like  a  spirit's  with  the  joyliil  thought,  'tell  him  how 
I  love  him ;  and  say  that  I  shall  be  with  him  when  he 
does  not  know  !'  And  I  am  sure  that,  if  it  is  possible 
for  souls  that  have  escaped  fi'om  these  environments  oi 
flesh  to  be  near  us  still,  she  will  often  be  near  you, 
loving  you,  influencing  you.  Perhaps  she  is  present 
now,  and  hears  all  we  say,  and  sees  how  badly  you  feel, 
and  thinks  you  would  not  feel  quite  so  badly  if  you 
knew  that  she  is  happy." 

Frank  would  have  spoken,  to  ask  some  earnest  ques- 
tion which  arose  in  his  heart ;  but  his  feelings  were  too 
much  agitated,  and  he  could  not  trust  his  voice. 

"We  will  believe  such  things  are  true  of  our  lost 
ones,"  Mr.  Egglestone  said,  with  a  parting  pressure  of 
the  boy's  hand.  "  For,  with  that  faith,  we  shall  surely 
try  so  to  live  that,  when  they  approach  us,  they  will 
not  be  repelled ;  and  thus  we  will  be  guarded  from 
evil,  if  not  by  any  direct  influence  of  theirs,  then  by  our 
own  reverence  and  love  for  them." 

With  this  he  took  his  leave.  And  Frank  crept  into 
his  bunk,  and  turned  away  his  face,  before  he  dared  to 
open  and  read  his  mother's  letter. 

In  that  letter  there  were  no  reproofs  for  his  miscon- 
duct. But  in  place  of  such  his  mother  had  written  the 
simple  story  of  Hattie's  death,  with  many  affecting 
little  details,  showing  he    thoughtful  tenderness  for  all, 


220  THE    DEUMMER    BOY. 

her  cheerful  sweetness,  and  her  love  for  Frank.  Then 
followed  affectionate  messages  from  them  at  home,  who 
were  very  lonely  now,  and  longed  to  have  him  with 
them  —  all  which  had  a  power  beyond  any  reproaches 
to  win  the  boy  back  to  that  purity  of  heart  and  life 
which  belonged  to  his  home-affections,  and  was  safe 
when  they  were  strong,  and  was  imperilled  when  they 
were  forgotten. 

"  O,  to  think,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  only  this  morn- 
ing I  was  imagining  how  it  looked  at  home  to-day  — 
and  it  is  all  so  different !  I  am  gone,  and  now  Hattie 
is  gone  too ! " 


XXI. 

UP  THE   SOUND. 

So  passed  that  Sunday,  memorable  to  the  expedi 
tion  ;  for  it  ushered  in  the  battle- week. 

Besides  the  transports  and  store-ships  belonging  to 
tne  coast  division,  a  squadron  of  United  States  gun- 
boats, under  command  of  Commodore  Goldsborough, 
had  rendezvoused  at  the  inlet.  Those  were  to  take 
care  of  the  rebel  fleet,  attend  to  the  shore  batteries, 
and  prepare  the  way  for  the  operation  of  the  land 
forces. 

All  the  vessels  destined  to  take  part  in  the  advance 
were  now  over  the  bulkhead,  in  Pamlico  Sound.  Qn 
Monday,  the  sailing  vessels  were  hauled  into  position, 
each  astorn  of  its  steam-consort,  by  which  it  was  to  be 
towed.  Sixty-five  vessels  of  various  classes  were  to 
participate  in  the  movement ;  while  upwards  of  fifty 
were  to  remain  behind  at  the  inlet,  holding  in  reserve 
sixty  days'  supply  of  stores  for  the  entire  expedition. 

The  stay  at  the  inlet  had  occasionally  been  enli- 
vened by  the  arrival  of  refugees,  white  and  black,  from 


222  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

the  coast  of  North  Carolina.  Some  of  these  were  cit- 
izens  escaped  fi*om  the  persecutions  meted  out  by  the 
rebels  to  all  who  still  remained  loyal  to  the  old  flag. 
Some  were  deserters  from  the  confederate  army,  in 
which  they  had  been  compelled  to  serve.  Others 
were   slaves   fleeing   from   bondage   to   freedom". 

Again,  on  Monday,  a  sail-boat  hove  in  sight,  and, 
being  overhauled  by  one  of  the  gunboats,  proved  to 
be  loaded  with  these  fugitives.  They  were  mostly 
negroes ;  two  of  whom  were  bright,  intelligent  boys, 
who  gave  such  evidence  of  joy  at  their  escape,  of  loy- 
alty to  the  Union,  and  of  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
the  country,  that  Flag-ofiicer  Goldsborough  retained 
them  for  the  information  they  might  be  able  to  give, 
while  the  rest  were  sent  ashore. 

And  now,  general  orders  were  read  to  the  troops, 
announcing  to  them  that  they  were  soon  to  land  on 
the  coast  of  N'orth  Carolina,  and  reminding  them  that 
they  were  there,  not  to  pillage  or  destroy  private 
property,  but  to  subdue  the  rebellion,  and  to  maintain 
the  Constitution  and  the  laws. 

Monday  and  Tuesday  w.^.re  occupied  with  prepara- 
tions. But  early  Wednesday  morning  —  more  than 
three  weeks  after  the  arrival  of  the  expedition  at  the 
inlet  —  the  signals  to  weigh  anchor  and  set  sail  were 
given. 

Commodore  Goldsborough's  gunboat  took  the  lead- 


UP    THE    SOUND.  22b 

Other  vessels  of  the  naval  squadron  followed.  Then 
came  the  transports  —  a  goodly  spectacle. 

" '  'T  were  wuth  ten  years  of  peaceful  life,  one 
glance  at  our  array,' "  observed  the  poetical  Tucket. 

Each  brigade  formed  three  columns  of  steamers  and 
sailing  vessels  in  tow ;  and  brigade  followed  brigade. 
The  shallow  water  of  the  sound  was  scircely  ruffled 
by  a  breeze.  It  lay  like  a  field  of  silver  before  the 
furrows  of  the  fleet.  The  tall,  taper  masts  of  the 
schooners  pointed  Hke  needles  to  the  sky  under  which 
they  moved.  The  aisles  between  the  three  columns 
of  ships  were  unbroken  through  the  whole  length  of 
the  fleet,  which  extended  for  two  miles  over  the  sur- 
face of  the  sound,  and  advanced  with  such  slow  and 
-uniform  motion,  each  vessel  keeping  its  position,  that 
now  all  seemed  moving  as  one,  and  again  all  seemed 
at  rest,  with  the  waters  of  the  sound  flowing  past  their 
steady  keels. 

As  yet,  the  destination  of  the  fleet  was  unknown. 
As  it  proceeded  at  first  southward  and  westward,  the 
rumor  grew  that  ISJ'ewbern  was  to  be  attacked.  But  it 
was  only  the  course  of  the  channel  which  thus  far 
shaped  its  course ;  and  after  a  few  zigzag  turns,  the 
cause  of  which  was  inexplicable  to  the  green  ones, 
iornorant  of  the  shoals,  it  began  to  steer  due  north. 
Then  all  doubts  Ts-ith  regard  to  its  destination  van- 
ished. 


224'  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

"  Roanoke  Island,  boys  !  Roanoke  Island  !  "  was 
echoed  from  mouth  to  mouth  on  board  the  schooner. 

The  day  was  beautiful  —  only  a  light  breeze  blow- 
ing, and  a  few  light  clouds  floating  in  the  blue  ether. 
And  now  the  vessels  at  the  inlet  began  to  sink  below 
the  horizon ;  first,  the  hulls,  then  the  decks  disap- 
peared;  and  lastly,  spars  and  rigging  went  down 
behind  the  curve  of  the  sphere,  and  were  visible  no 
more  to  the  clearest  glass. 

At  the  same  time  emerged  in  the  west  the  main 
land  of  North  Carolina.  At  first,  tall  cypresses  rose 
to  view,  gi'owing  as  it  were  "  out  of  a  mirror."  Then 
appeared  the  long  swampy  shores,  lying  dim  and  low, 
with  here  and  there  a  miserable  fish-house,  the  sole 
trace  of  human  habitation. 

At  sundown  the  fleet  was  within  ten  miles  of  Roan- 
oke Island.  The  signal  from  the  flag-ship  was  given, 
at  which  the  vessels  of  each  brigade  drew  together, 
the  clank  of  mnning-out  chains  sounded  along  the 
lines,  the  anchors  plashed,  and  the  fleet  was  moored 
for  the  night. 

As  yet  there  were  no  signs  of  rebels.  What  the 
moiTOW,  what  the  night,  might  bring  forth  was  all 
uncertainty.  The  night  set  in  dark  enough.  But 
soon  the  sky  cleared,  the  moon  came  out  resplendent, 
and  the  stars  looked  down  from  their  far  eternal  calm 
upon  the  evanescent  shirvs  of   mortal  conflict  —  the 


UP    THE    SOUND.  225 

batteries  of  the  rebellion  yonder,  and  here  the  fleet, 
no  more  than  the  tiniest  shells  to  those  distant,  serene, 
awful  eyes  of  Deity.  And  Frank  looked  up  at  the 
stars ;  and  the  spirit  within  him  said,  "  They  will 
shine  the  same  to-morrow  night,  and  the  next  night, 
and  forever;  and  whether  there  is  war  or  pe^e, 
whether  victory  comes  or  defeat,  and  whether  thou, 
child,  art  living  or  art  dead,  they  know  not,  they 
change  not,  neither  do  they  rejoice  or  mourn."  And 
the  thought  sank  deep  into  the  heart  of  the  boy 
as  he  retired  to  his  bed,  and  closed  his  eyes  to 
sleep. 

A  sharp  lookout  was  kept  for  the  rebel  gunboats  all 
night,  but  they  never  made  their  appearance.  The 
next  morning  the  weather  was  heavy  —  promising 
rain.  At  eight  o'clock,  however,  the  signal  to  weigh 
anchor  —  the  Union  Jack  at  the  foremast,  and  the 
American  flag  at  the  stern  —  was  telegraphed  from 
the  flag-ship,  and  repeated  by  the  flag-ship  of  each 
brigade.  Again  the  fleet  got  in  motion,  approaching 
the  entrance  to  Croatan  Sound.  The  water  was  shoal, 
and  progress  was  sloAv^and  soon  it  came  on  to  rain. 
It  was  a  dismal  day ;  rain  on  the  decks,  rain  on  the 
water,  rain  on  the  marshy  shores  of  the  main  land,  and 
over  the  forests  beyond,  where  the  gfiosts  of  blasted 
trees  stretched  their  naked  arms  despairingly  to  the 
dripping  clouds.  An^^  now  a  low  swampy  point  of 
15 


226  THE    DRUMI^EE    BOY. 

Roanoke  Island  pushes  out  into  the  dim  water,  undei 
a  veil  of  rain. 

At  about  noon,  most  of  the  vessels  came  to  anchor. 
But  some  of  the  gunboats  advanced  to  the  entrance 
of  Croatan  Sound,  and  reconnoitred.  The  rebel  fleet 
w^  discovered,  drawn  up  in  line  of  battle  on  the  west 
side  of  the  island,  awaiting  the  conflict.  A  fog  com- 
ing on,  active  operations  against  the  enemy  were  post- 
poned, and  the  gunboats,  withdrawing  also,  came  to 
anchor  for  the  night. 

During  the  day,  several  of  the  armed  steamers, 
which  had  served  as  transports,  prepared  to  cooperate 
with  the  naval  squadron  in  their  true  character  as 
gunboats ;  the  troops  on  board  of  them  being  dis- 
tributed among  other  vessels  of  the  coast  division. 
Among  the  steamers  thus  cleared  was  the  schooner's 
consort;  and  thus  it  happened  that  Mr.  Sinjin  re- 
turned to  his  old  quarters,  to  the  great  joy  of  the 
drummer  boy,  whose  heart  burned  within  him  at  the 
thought  of  meeting  his  old  friend  once  more,  after 
their   unhappy   parting. 

They  met,  indeed ;  but  the  schooner  was  now  so 
crowded,  and  such  was  tlie  stir  on  board,  that  Frank 
scarce  found  an  opportunity  to  ofier  the  veteran  his 
hand,  and  get  oii^  look  out  of  those  serious  gray  eyes. 

The  drummers  being  assembled,  the  surgeon  came 
to  them,  and  gave  each  a  strip  of  red  flannel  to  tie  on 


UP    THE    SOUND.  227 

his  arm  as  a  token,  at  the  same  time  informing  them 
that,  when  the  troops  landed,  they  were  to  go  with 
him  and  help  carry  the  wounded. 

"  This  begins  to  look  Kke  serious  business,  my  boy," 
said  the  old  drummer,  kindly,  as  he  stooped  to  assist 
Frank  in  tying  on  his  badge. 

His  touch  was  vei  y  gentle.  Frank's  breast  began  to 
swell.  But  before  he  could  speak  the  old  man  had 
disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

"  He  don't  know  yet  that  I  know  he  gave  me  the 
watch,"  thought  the  boy,  "  and  he  wouldn't  look  and 
see  that  I  have  it  again." 

Then  he  regarded  the  red  token  on  his  arm,  and 
remembered  that  they  all  had  other  things  to  think 
of  now. 

Picket-boats  were  out  in  advance  all  night,  at  the 
entrance  to  Croatan  Sound,  in  the  darkness  and  fog, 
keeping  watch  for  the  enemy.  No  enemy  appeared. 
Towards  morning,  however,  the  fog  hfting,  two  rebel 
steamers  were  seen  hastily  taking  to  their  heels,  hav- 
ing come  down  in  the  obscurity  to  see  what  they 
could   see. 

It  was  Friday,  the  7th  of  February.  The  morn- 
ing was  beautiful ;  the  sunrise  came  in  clouds  of 
glory ;  there  was  as  yet  no  taint  of  battle  in  the  purity 
of  the  air.  It  was  a  lovely  day  for  a  sea  fight. 
Frank  climbed  into  the  rigging  to  observe. 


228  THE    DRUMMER    BOY'. 

At  ten  o'clock  Goldsborough's  gunboats  could  be 
seen  making  their  way,  one  by  one,  cautiously,  through 
the  narrow  channel  between  marshy  islands  into  Croa- 
tan  Sound.  There  were  nineteen  of  them.  The  gun- 
boats of  the  coast  division  followed,  six  in  number. 
The  S.  R.  Spaulding,  to  which  Burnside  had  trans- 
ferred his  flag,  next  went  in,  making  signals  for  the 
transports  to  follow. 

Far  ofi"  a  gun  Avas  heard.  It  was  only  a  signal  fired 
by  a  rebel  steamer  to  announce  the  approach  of  the 
squadron;  but  i^  thrilled  the  hearts  of  the  troops 
waiting  to  go  into  battle. 

An  hour  later  another  cannon  boomed,  nearer  and 
louder.  It  was  a  shot  tossed  from  the  commodore's 
flag-ship  at  the  rebels,  who  promptly  responded. 

The  flag-ship  now  hoisted  the  signal,  — 

"This  day  our  country  expects  every  man 
to   do   his   duty." 

From  ship  to  ship,  from  man  to  man,  from  heart  to 
Jieart,  thrilled  the  electric  message.  It  was  greeted  by 
cheers  and  the  :hunder  of  guns.  This  was  at  half  j-  asi 
eleven  o'clock. 


XXII. 

THE   ATTACK   OF  THE   GUNBOATS. 

The  spars  of  the  transports  were  beginning  to  be 
thronged.  Coq^oral  Gray  brought  up  a  glass  to 
Frank. 

"  O,  good  !  "  cried  Frank.     « Is  it  yours  ?  " 

«  No  ;  it  belongs  to  Mr.  Sinjin." 

"  Did  he  send  it  to  me  ?  " 

"ISTot  he !  But  he  had  been  casting  that  sharp  eye 
of  his  up  at  you,  and  I  knew  what  he  meant  when  he 
said,  '  Corporal,  there's  a  good  lookout  from  the  mast- 
head, if  you'd  like  to  take  a  glass  up  there." 

"Did  he  really  mean  it  for  me,  after  all  my  bad 
treatment  of  him  ? "  said  Frank.  "  Bless  his  old 
heart ! " 

With  his  naked  eye  for  the  general  view,  and  the 
glass  to  bring  out  the  details,  Frank  enjoyed  a  rare 
spectacle  that  day.  Roanoke  Island  and  its  surround- 
ings lay  outspread  before  him  like  a  map.  On  the 
west  of  it  was  Croatan  Sound,  separating  it  from  the 
marshes  and  forests  of  the  main  land.     On  the   east 

(229) 


230  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

was  Rcauoke  Sound,  a  much  narrower  sheet  of  water; 
beyond  which  stretched  that  long,  low,  interminable 
strip  of  land  which  forms  the  outer  coast,  or  seaboard, 
of  this  double-coasted  country.  Still  east  of  that 
glimmered  the  blue  rim  of  the  Atlantic,  a  dozen  miles 
away.  At  about  the  same  distance,  on  the  north, 
beyond  Roanoke  Island  and  the  two  sounds  each  side 
of  it,  opened  the  broad  basin  of  Albemarle  Sound, 
like  an  inland  sea.  The  island  itself  appeared  to  be 
some  twelve  miles  in  its  greatest  length,  and  two  or 
three  in  breadth,  indented  with  numerous  creeks  and 
coves,  and  forming  a  slight  curve  about  Croatan 
Sound.  It  was  within  this  curve  that  the  naval  battle 
took  place.     It  had  now  fairly  begun. 

At  noon  the  flag-officer's  ship  displayed  the  signal 
for  closer  action,  and  the  engagement  soon  became 
generah 

The  enemy's  gunboats,  seven  in  number,  showed  a 
disposition  to  fight  at  long  range,  retreating  up  the 
sound  as  the  fleet  advanced  —  a  movement  which  soon 
brought  the  latter  under  the  fire  of  a  battery  that 
opened  from  the  shore. 

The  air,  which  had  pre^dously  been  perfectly  clear 
that  morning,  was  now  loaded  with  clouds  of  smoke, 
which  puffed  from  a  hundred  guns,  and  surging  up 
from  the  vessels  of  the  squadron,  from  the  rebel  gun. 
boats,   and  from   the   shore   battery,  rolled   away   in 


THE    ATTACK    OF    THE    GUNBOATS.  231 

broken,  sun-illumined  masses,  wafted  by  a  light 
northeasterly  breeze. 

The  soldiers  in  the  rigging  of  the  transports  c^nld 
see  the  flashes  burst  from  the  cannons'  mouths,  the 
spouted  smoke,  the  shots  throwing  up  high  in  air 
the  water  or  sand  as  they  struck,  or  coming  skip- 
skijD  across  the  sound,  the  shells  exploding,  and  the 
terrible  roar  of  the  battle  filled  the  air. 

For  a  time  the  fire  of  the  attack  was  about  equally 
divided  between  the  rebel  steamers  and  the  fortifica- 
tion on  the  island.  It  was  soon  discovered,  however, 
that  boats  had  been  sunk  and  a  line  of  piles  driven 
across  the  channel  abreast  of  the  battery,  to  prevent 
the  farther  advance  of  om-  gunboats  in  that  direction. 
Behind  those  the  retreating  steamprs  discreetly  witii- 
drew,  where  they  were  presently  reenforced  by  several 
other  armed  vessels.  The  gunboats  made  no  attempt 
to  follow,  but  took  positions  to  give  their  principal 
attention  to  the  battery. 

The  fire  from  the  shore  gradually  slackened,  and 
thousands  of  hearts  swelled  anew  as  the  hour  seemed 
at  hand  when  the  troops  were  to  land  and  carry  the 
works  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 

Burnside  paced  the  deck  of  the  Spaulding,  keeping 
an  eye  on  the  fort,  watching  the  enemy's  shots,  and 
looking  impatiently  for  the  arrival  of  the  transports. 
At   length    they   came    crowding   through    the   inlet, 


232  THE    DEUMMER    BOY. 

dropping  their  anchors  in  the  sound  just  out  of  range 
of  the  fort.  Seen  fi-om  the  gunboats,  they  were  a 
sight  not  less  astonishing  than  that  which  they 
themselves  were  coining  to  witness.  Troops,  eagerly 
watching  the  conflict,  crowded  the  decks  and  hung 
u23on  the  rigging  like  swarms  of  bees.  Ropes,  masts, 
and  yards  were  festooned  with  the  heavy,  clinging 
clusters,  which  seemed  ready  to  part  and  fall  with 
their  own  weight.  The  efiect  of  the  picture  was 
enhanced  by  the  mellow  brilliancy  of  the  afternoon 
sky,  against  which  the  dark  masses  were  clearly  de- 
fined, and  by  the  perfect  tranquillity  of  the  water, 
like  a  sea  of  glass  mirroring  the  ships  and  their 
loaded  spars. 

The  gunboats  sent  to  the  ships  the  roar  of  their 
artillery,  and  the  ships  sent  back  the  chorus  of  thou- 
sands of  cheering  voices  for  every  well-aimed  shot. 

'Frank  was  in  the  rigging  of  the  schooner,  watching 
the  fight,  making  drawings  to  send  to  his  mother,  and 
talking  with  his  comrades,  among  whom  Sinjin's  glass 
passed  from  hand  to  hand. 

"I  tell  ye,  boys!"  remarks  Seth  Tucket,  "this  is  a 
leetle  aLead  of  any  game  of  bluff  ever  I  took  a  hand 
in !  The  battery  is  about  used  up.  S'pose  you  look 
at  your — my  —  our  watch,  Frank,  and  sec  how  often 
the  darned  rebels  fire." 

*  Once  in  about  ten  minutes  now,"  Frank  informs 


THE  ATTACK  OF  THE  GUXiOATS.        '233 

him.     "0!  did  you  see  that  shell  burst?    Righi  over 
one  of  our  gunboats  !  " 

"  She's  aground,"  says  Gray,  with  the  glass.  "  She 
can  neither  use  her  guns  nor  get  off!  A  little  tug  is 
going  to  help  her." 

"  Bully  for  the  tug ! "  says  Jack  Winch. 
"Hurrah!    hurrah!"    ring    the    deafening   plaudits 
from  the  ships. 

"What  is  it?"   is  eagerly  asked. 
« The   battery's   flag-staff   is   shot    away ! "    shouts 
Frank  at  the  top  of  his  voice.     "  Hooray ! " 

"  Some  think  the  flag  has  been  hauled  down,  to  sur- 
render the  fort,  but  it's  a  mistake,"  declares  Gray. 
"  See  !  up  it  goes  again  on  a  piece  of  the  pole  !  And 
the  guns  are  at  it  again." 

"  Where's  Burnside  ?  "  asks  some  one.  And  Tucket 
quotes,  — 

"  '  O,  where  was  Roderick  then  ?  One  blast  upon  his 
bugle  horn  were  worth  a  thousand  men  !'" 

"He  is  sending  off  a  boat  to  the  shore  yonder,  to 
look  for  a  landing-place.  We'll  be  going  in  there  soon, 
boys ! " 

The  boat  approaches  a  cove  called  Ashby's  Harbor, 

taking  soundings  as  it  nears  the  land.     On  board  of 

her  is  one  of  the  negro  lads,  who  fearlessly  pilots  her 

towards  scenes  familiar  to  his  days  of  bondage. 

"They'd    better   keep    their  eyes    skinned!"    says 


234  THE    DKUMMEK    BOY. 

Tucket.  "  There's  rebels  in  the  mash  there,  I  bet  ye 
a  dollar!" 

The  officers  of  the  boat  land  safely,  and  reconnoitre. 
As  they  are  reembarking,  however,  up  spring  from  the 
tall  grass  a  company  of  rebels,  and  flash,  flash,  goes  a 
volley  of  musketry. 

"  I  wish  somebody  had  took  me  up  on  my  bet,"  says 
Tucket ;  "  'twould  have  be^n  a  dollar  in  my  pocket." 

"  They're  ofi*;  nobody  left  behind ;  nobody  hurt,  I 
hope,"  says  Gray,  watching  the  boat. 

"  Look,  boys !  the  rebel  works  are  afire ! "  is  now 
the  cry. 

Flames  break  through  the  smoke,  and  the  firing 
slackens  on  both  sides  for  a  short  time. 

"  It's  only  the  barracks,  probably,  fired  by  a  shell," 
says  Gray.  "  They've  no  idea  of  surrendering.  They 
hold  out  well!" 

The  battery  is  completely  enveloped  in  black  smoke, 
out  of  which  leaps  the  white  puff"  of  the  cannon, 
show^ing  that  the  gunners  are  still  at  work. 

"  See  !  the  gunboat  that  was  aground  is  getting  off! 
that's  a  brave  tug  that's  handling  her  ! "  cries  Frank. 
"  O  ! "  —  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and  wonder. 
For  just  then  the  gunboat,  swinging  around  so  that 
she  can  bring  her  guns  to  bear,  lets  fly  her  broadside, 
dropping  shot  and  shell  right  into  the  smoking 
batterv. 


THE  ATTACK  OF  THE  GUNBOATS.        235 

"It's  about  time,"  says  Jack  WiDch,  "for  us  Doys  to 
go  ashore  and  clean  the  rebels  out.  I'm  a  gittiiig  tu-ed 
of  this  slow  work." 

"  You'll  get  ashore  soon  enough,  and  have  enough 
to  do  when  you  get  there,"  says  Atwater.  "There 
are  strong  batteries  towards  the  centre  of  the  island, 
that'll  have  to  be  taken  when  we  go  in." 

"Abe's  afi-aid,"  mutters  Jack  to  some  comrades 
near  him.  "  Did  ye  see  him,  and  Frank,  and  Seth 
Tucket,  reading  their  Testaments  ?  " 

"It  was  the  *Lady  of  the  Lake'  Seth  was  reading," 
says  Harris.  "  He  carries  it  in  his  pocket,  and  pitches 
into  it  odd  spells." 

"  Winch  don't  know  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  from  the 
Bible ! "  chimes  in  Tucket's  hio'h  nasal  voice. 

o 

"  Yes,  I  do,  too  !  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,  that's  one 
of  Byron's  poems !     S'pose  I  don't  know  ?  " 

"O,  perfectly!"  sneers  Ellis,  amid  the  laughter 
Jack's  blunder  elicits.  "And  no  doubt  you'll  soon 
find  out  who  the  cowards  are  among  us,  if  you  don't 
know  already." 

"  What's  that,  afire,  away  up  the  sound,  close  into 
the  main  land  ?  "  asks  the  phlegmatic  Atwater. 

"  I  swan,  ef  'tan't  one  of  the  rebel  steamers !  She's 
got  disabled,  and  they've  run  her  ashore.  She's  all  a 
sheet  of  fire  now ! " 

"  WLat's  that  saucy  little  tug  around  here  for  ?  " 


236  IHE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  Burnside's  aboard  of  her.  He's  coming  to  see  il 
we're  all  right.     We  shall  land  soon,"  says  Gray. 

"  See ! "  cries  Frank ;  "  our  gunboats  are  shelling  tho 
shore,  to  make  a  landing-place  for  us.  I  wouldn't  like 
to  be  in  the  woods  there  ! " 

" I  oruess  Frank  wouldn't ! "  observes  Jack.  "But  I 
would ;  I'd  like  no  better  fun  than  to  rush  right  in  and 
skedaddle  the  rebels  with  the  bayonet ;  that's  the  way 
to  do  it ! " 

"The  woods  are  afire!  Our  shells  have  set  them 
afire!"  cries  Ellis.  "Look!  there  come  the  rebel 
steamers  again,  down  the  western  shore.  They  think 
they  can  get  down  at  us,  now  our'  gunboats  are  busy 
oflT  there." 

'"When  the   cat's   away  the   mice   will  play,"  says 
Tucket.     "  But  the  kittens  are  after  'em  ! " 

"  There  goes  Burnside's  tug  to  see  what  the 
row  is ! " 

"  The  battery  scarcely  fires  at  all  now,"  says  Frank, 
looking  at  his  watch.  "  It's  twenty  minutes  since  it 
has  fired  a  shot." 

"  There  goes  one !  And  see  !  the  gunboats  are  fight- 
ing each  other  now  like  mad  —  again ! "  cries  Gray. 
"They're  all  so  wrapped  in  smoke  you  can  hardly  see 
one  of  'em."  —  Bang,  bang,  bang !  —  "  Isn't  it  grand  ?  " 
,  "  A  shell  burst  right  over  Burnside's  tug !  "  exclaims 
If  rank.  "  It  burst,  and  sprinkled  the  water  all  around  it !  '* 


xxin 

THE  TROOPS  DISEMBARK.  —  THE  ISLAND.     * 

At  four  o'clock  the  last  of  the  transports  had 
entered  the  inlet,  and  rejoined  the  fleet.  Soon  after 
commenced  preparations  for  the  landing  of  the  troops. 
The  boats  were  lowered  and  manned,  and  the  sol- 
diers, descending  from  decks  and  spars,  began  to 
crowd  into  them.  Knapsacks  were  left  behind;  the 
men  taking  with  them  only  their  arms,  overcoats, 
canteens,  haversacks,  and  cartridge-boxes,  with  three 
days'  rations  of  pork,  beef,  and  hard  bread,  and  forty 
rounds  of  ball  cartridges.  Down  both  sides  of  the 
vessels  they  passed,  in  rapid,  regular  files,  pouring 
into  the  boats.  Their  guns  were  taken  as  they  stepped 
upon  the  stairs,  and  passed  down  to  them  as  soon  as 
they  were  embarked.  Some  took  places  at  the  oars ; 
the  rest  filed  in  fore  and  aft.  It  must  have  been  an 
amazing  spectacle  to  the  enemy  to  witness  these  stir- 
ring and  formidable  preparations  for  finishing  the  work 
the  gunboats  had  begun.  The  troops  were  jubilant., 
and  eager  for  battle. 

(237) 


238  THE    DKUAQIER    BOY. 

As  fast  as  lie  boats  were  filled,  they  pushed  from 
the  stairs  to  make  room  for  others,  and  lay  upon  their 
oars  watching  for  the  signals.  These  were  telegraphed 
from  the  flag-ship  of  each  brigade.  At  the  instant, 
the  boats  swarmed  the  water  in  miniature  fleets,  with 
oars  flashing,  flags  flying,  and  arms  gleaming  in  the 
sun.  Rowing  to  the  flag-ship,  or  steamer  -detailed  for 
the  purpose,  they  attached  themselves  under  her  stern 
in  two  lines  as  they  arrived,  each  boat  taking  the 
painter  of  the  one  behind  it.  Then,  at  a  signal  whistle, 
the  steamers  started  for  the  shore,  each  towing  its 
double  string  of  boats. 

In  the  mean  time  the  fight  between  the  fleet  and  the 
battery  was  continued,  —  rather  languidly,  however, 
on  the  part  of  the  battery ;  and  a  couple  of  light 
draught  gunboats,  running  iix  close  to  the  shore,  con- 
tinued shelling  the  woods  about  Ashby's  Harbor,  to 
cover  the  landing  of  the  troops. 

When  the  steamers  towing  in  the  boats  had  arrived 
as  near  as  the  depth  of  water  would  permit,  the  signal 
whistles  were  sounded,  the  painters  were  cast  ofi",  the 
lines  of  boats  l)roke  simultaneously,  the  rowers  took 
to  their  oars  and  pulled  with  all  speed  for  the  shore. 
As  soon  as  the  prows  struck,  the  men  jumped  out, 
dashing  through  mud  and  water  to  the  land.  Many 
did  not  wait  for  the  boats  to  get  in,  but,  in  their  eager- 
ness to  follow  their  comrades,  leaped  overboard  where 


THE    TROOPS    DISEMBARK.  239 

the  water  was  up  to  their  waists.  Some  got  stuck  in 
the  mire,  and  were  helped  out  by  those  who  came  after 
them.  Si*"  thousand  men  were  thus  thrown  upon  the 
island  at  the  first  disembarkation ;  while  the  remain- 
der of  the  troops  on  the  transports  w^atched  the  bril- 
liant scene,  and  cheered  lustily  when  they  saw  the  flag 
of  the  Union  waving  on  the  shore. 

Frank's  regiment  was  not  yet  disembarked.  The 
boys  were  still  in  the  rigging,  following  with  eager 
eyes  the  movements  of  the  boats.  An  exciting  inci- 
dent added  interest  to  the  scene.  Before  the  boats 
landed,  a  body  of  rebels  in  ambush,  waiting  to  receive 
them,  were  betrayed  by  the  gleam  of  their  muskets. 
A  shell  dropped  discreetly  into  their  hiding-place,  by 
one  of  the  gunboats,  sent  them  scampering,  and  the 
troops  landed  without  opj^osition. 

"  It's  our  turn  now,  boys ! "  cried  Tucket.  And 
they  slipped  fi'om  the  rigging,  impatient  to  leap  into 
the  boats,  and  be  put  ashore.  "  I  tell  ye,  won't  it  feel 
good  to  straighten  out  a  fellow's  legs  once,  on  dry 
land  ! " 

The  men  were  generally  of  Seth's  opinion  ;  their 
long  confinement  on  shipboard  having  becorre  exceed- 
ingly uKMiotonous  and  tiresome. 

Frank  was  with  his  company.  They  loaded  the 
boats  to  the  gunwales.  The  water  was  still  smooth, 
save   where   it    was  broken  into  waves  and  whirling 


240  THE    DKUMMER    TiOY. 

eddies  by  the  sweej)  of  oars.  The  men  shouted  joy- 
ously, and  waved  their  caps.  Frank  stood  in  the  bow, 
and  swung  his  cap  with  the  rest.  But  looking  back 
across  the  shining  wakes  at  the  forsaken  schooner,  a 
feeling  of  sadness  came  over  him  —  a  feeling  of  regret- 
ful memory,  as  of  one  leaving  home. 

There  she  lay,  motionless ;  hull  and  spars  painted 
(lark  against  the  sunset  sky;  her  rigging,  to  the  finest 
cordage,  traced  in  exquisitely  distinct  lines  upon  that 
shining  background  —  a  picture  of  exceeding  loveli- 
ness and  peace. 

As  the  boats  swept  down  towards  the  shore,  and 
the  schooner  seemed  to  recede  into  the  flaming  west, 
the  network  of  cordage  became  black  cobwebs  on  the 
sky,  then  melted  away  and  vanished  altogether.  At 
the  same  time,  the  water,  which  the  boats  had  trou- 
bled, grew  smooth  again,  reflecting  the  sunset  glow, 
with  the  sombre  hull  and  ebon  spars  painted  upon  it, 
until  Frank  saw  the  spectre  of  a  double  ship  sus- 
pended in  a  double  heaven. 

And  as  the  last  view  of  the  schooner  was  all 
beautiful,  so  his  last  thoughts  of  her  were  all.  tender. 
He  remembered  ro  more  against  her  the  hardships  of 
the  voyage,  the  seasickness,  the  two  gills  of  water  a 
day.  But  that  she  had  borne  them  faithfully  through 
storms,  that  whether  they  slept  or  waked  she  had 
not  failed  them,  —  this  he  remembered.     And  his  sis- 


THE    ISLAND.  241 

ter's  death,  and  all  his  sufferings  and  evrors,  and  the 
peace  of  soul  which  had  come  to  him  at  last,  were 
associated  now  and  henceforth  with  his  memory  of  the 
ship  swimming  there  in  the  illumined  horizon.  Only 
for  a  brief  interval,  like  a  wind  that  comes  we  know 
not  whence,  and  goes  again  we  know  not  whither, 
touching  us  with  invisible  perfumed  wings,  these 
thoughts  swept  over  the  boy,  and  passed  as  quickly. 
And  he  turned  from  gazing  after  the  schooner  to  face 
the  scenes  before  him.  Nearer  and  nearer  drew  the 
boats  to  the  island.  Its  woods  and  shores  lay  cool 
and  tranquil  in  the  evening  light,  and  the  troops 
there,  half-hidden  by  the  tall  grass  and  the  trees,  were 
tinted  with  a  gleam  of  romance. 

It  was  now  fast  growing  dark.  Clouds  were  gather- 
ing in  the  sky.  From  their  edges  the  last  hues  of  the 
sunset  fhd^d,  the  moon  was  hid,  and  a  portentous  gloom 
fell  upon  the  waves.  The  cannon  were  still  thunder- 
ing at  intervals.  The  shells  flew  screaming  through 
the  air,  and  fell  bursting  on  thd  fort  or  in  the  woods. 
It  was  now  so  dark  that  the  flash  of  the  guns  had 
become  lurid  aiid  sharp,  and  the  meteoric  course  of  the 
projectiles  could  be  traced  by  their  fiery  wake. 

Amid  this  scene  the  boats  entered  the  cove,  and  as 
the  prows  struck,  or  before,  the  excited  soldiers  leaped 
out,  regardless  of  mud  and  water. 

"  Shouldn't  wonder  if  somebody  got  a  wet  foot," 
16 


242  t:::-:  drummer  boy. 

said  Tucket,  in  the  midst  of  tlie  pliingiDg  and  plash- 
ing  —  himself  in  up  to  his  hips.     "  '  A  horse  !  a  horse 
my  kingdom  for  a  horse  ! '     Here,  Miiuly,  take  a  grip 
of  my  coat  tail.     I'm  longer  legged  than  you." 

« I'm  all  right,"  said  Frank.  '.'  I've  no  gun  to  carry, 
and  I  can  get  along."  And  he  floundered  on  as  fast 
as  the  deep,  clinging  ooze  would  permit. 

"  This  is  what  they  call  the  sacred  soil !  "  observed 
Harris.  "  Just  the  thing,  I  should  say,  to  breed  rattle- 
snakes and  rebels." 

"  I  swan  to  man  !  "  chimed  in  Tucket's  voice  from  a 
distance,  —  for  his  long  legs  had  given  him  an  advan- 
tage in  the  general  race,  —  "  there  ain't  no  shore  after 
ye  get  to't.  It's  nothin'  but  salt  ma'sh,  all  trod  to 
pudd'n'  by  the  fellers  that  have  been  in  ahead  of  up. 
I  thought  we  was  to  be  landed ;  'stead  of  that,  we're 
swamped  !  " 

The  men  pushed  on,  through  marsh  and  swamp, 
sometimes  in  mire  and  water  knee-deep,  and  now  in 
tall,  rank  grass  up  to  their  eyes ;  the  darkness  adding 
to  their  dismal  prospect. 

"  By  Grimes  !  "  mutters  Jack  Winch,  "  I  don't  think 
an  island  of  this  kind  is  worth  taking.  It's  jest  fit  for 
secesh  and  niggers,  and  nobody  else." 

"  We  must  have  the  island,  because  it's  a  key  to  the 
coast,"  says  Frank. 


THE    ISLAND.  243 

"1  wouldn't  talk  war,  if  I  couldn't  carry  a  gun,'J 
retorts  Jack,  made  cross  by  the  cold  and  wet. 

"  Perhaps  before  we  get  through  you  '11  be  glad  to 
lend  me  yours,"  is  Frank's  pleasant  response,  as  he 
hastens  forward  through  gi-ass  which  waves  about  his 
ears  or  lies  trodden  and  tangled  under  foot. 

"The  gunboats  have  stopped  firing,"  observes  At- 
water. 

In  fact,  both  gunboats  and  battery  were  now  silent, 
the  former  having  drawn  off  for  the  night. 


XXIV. 

TKE   BIVOUAC. 

"There's  a  good  time  coming,  and  near,  boys! 
there's  a  good  time  coming,  and  near ! "  sings  out 
Tucket,  holding  his  head  high  as  he  strides  along,  for 
he  has  caught  a  sight  of  fires  beyond,  and  the  com- 
pany are  now  emerging  upon  a  tract  of  sandy  barrens, 
thinly  covered  with  pines. 

A  road  runs  through  the  island.  The  advance  of 
the  column  has  already  taken  possession  of  it.  Skir- 
mishers have  been  thrown  forward  into  the  woods,  and 
pickets  are  posted  on  the  flanks. 

The  troops  prepare  to  bivouac  for  the  night.  Fires 
are  kindled,  and  soon  the  generous  flames  blaze  up, 
illumining  picturesque  groups  of  men,  and  casting  a 
wild  glare  far  into  the  depths  of  the  great,  black, 
silent  woods.  The  trees  seem  to  stand  out  like 
startled  giants,  gazing  at  the  unusual  scene ;  and 
all  above  and  around  the  frightened  shadows  lurk, 
in  ghostly  boughs,  behind  dark  trunks,  among  the 
deep   grasses,  and   in   hollows   of  the   black   morass. 

(244) 


THE    BIVOUAC.  245 

And  the  darkness  of  the  night  overhangs  the  army 
like  a  vast  tent,  sombrely  flickering. 

A  dry  fence  of  cypress  and  pine  rails  is,  without 
hesitation,  appropriated  to  feed  the  fires  of  the  biv- 
ouac ;  and  the  chilled,  soaked  soldiers  gather  around 
them  to  got  warm  and  dry. 

"My  brave  fellows,"  says  Captain  Edney,  passing 
among  them,  "  do  the  best  you  can  for  yourselves  for 
the  night.  Try  to  keep  warm,  and  get  what  rest  and 
sleep  you  can.  You  will  need  all  your  strength  to- 
morrow." 

"  To-moiTow,"  observes  Winch,  with  a  swaggering, 
braggart  air,  "  we're  going  to  give  the  rebels  the 
almightiest  thrashing  they've  had  yet !  To  wade  in 
their  blood  as  deep  as  I've  waded  to-night  in  this 
mud  and  water,  that's  what  '11  just  suit  me  ! " 

"The  less  blood  the  better,  boys,"  says  Captain 
Edney.  "  But  we  must  be  prepared  to  shed  our  own 
to  the  last  drop,  if  need  be,  for  we're  bound  to  sweep 
this  island  of  every  traitor  to  his  country,  before  we 
leave  it.     Make  up  your  minds  to  that,  boys  !  " 

There  is  that  in  his  tone  which  promises  something 
besides  child's  play  on  the  moiTow.  He  is  calm,  seri- 
ous, spirited,  resolute ;  and  the  hearts  of  his  men  are 
fired  by  his  words. 

The  troops  are  full  of  jest  and  merriment  as  they 
kick  ofi"  their  shoes,  and  empty  the  water  out  of  them. 


246  THE    DKUMAIER    BOY. 

squeeze  their  dripping  trousers,  and,  lying  on  the 
ground,  toast  their  steaming  legs  by  the  fires. 

"  I  say,  le's  have  a  gallus  old  time  to-night,  to  pay 
for  our  ducking,"  suggests  Jack  Winch.  "  I  don't 
want  to  sleep." 

"  You  ought  to  be  off  in  the  swamps,  ou  picket 
duty,  then,"  says  Harris.  "Let  them  sleep  that  have 
a  chance.  For  my  part,  I'm  going  to  take  the  cap- 
tain's advice.  There's  no  knowing  what  sounds  will 
wake  us  up,  or  how  early." 

"The  sounds  of  muskets,  I  hope;  and  the  earlier  the 
better,"  says  the  valiant  Jack.  "  Dang  that  shoe !  I 
believe  I've  roasted  it !  Bah !  look  at  Abe  there, 
diving  into  his  Testament,  sure  's  you  live." 

And  Winch,  perceiving  that  Atwater  paid  no  at- 
tention to  the  sneer,  flung  his  shoe  at  him.  The 
soldier  was  reading  by  the  light  of  the  flames,  when 
the  missile  came,  striking  the  book  from  his  hands. 

"  Shame,  shame ! "  cried  Frank,  indignantly.  "  Jack 
Winch,  that  is  too  mean." 

"  O,  you  go  to  " France,  —  only  Jack  used  a 

worse  word,  — "  with  that  red  rag  on  your  arm !  I 
don't  have  any  thing  to  say  to  non-combatants." 

Frank  might  not  have  been  able  to  stifle  his  ^in- 
dignation but  for  the  grave  example  of  Atwater ,  who 
gave  no  more  heed  to  Jack's  shoe  than  he' had  given 
to  his  base  taunt,  but,  silently  gatl  ering  up  his  book 


THE    BIVOUAC.  247 

again,  brushed  the  sand  fi'om  it,  found  his  place,  and 
resumed  his  reading,  as  composedly  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  Neither  did  Frank  say  any  thing.  But 
Ellis,  near  whom  the  shoe  had  fallen,  tossed  it  back 
with  a  threat  to  consign  it  to  the  fire  if  it  came  that 
way  again. 

"Wonder  if  my  pocket-book  got  wet  any,"  said 
Harris,  taking  out  his  money  and  examining  it. 

"  O,  you  feel  mighty  proud  of  your  winnings ! "  said 
Jack,  who  seemed  bent  on  picking  a  quarrel  with  some 
one. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Harris.  "  I'm  just  so  proud  of  it 
as  this,"  —  reaching  something  towards  the  drummer 
boy.  "  Here,  Frank,  is  all  the  money,  I  believe,  that 
I've  won  of  you.  We're  going  into  a  fight  to-morrow, 
and  nobody  knows  how  we  shall  come  out  of  it.  I 
want  to  stand  right  with  every  body,  if  I  can." 

Frank  was  too  much  astonished  to  accept  the 
money.  He  seemed  to  think  there  was  some  joke 
in  it. 

"I'm  in  earnest,"  insisted  Harris.  "The  truth  is, 
I've  been  ashamed  of  winning  your  money,  ever  since. 
You  didn't  mean  it,  but  you've  acted  in  a  way  to 
make  me  ashamed." 

"  I  have  !  How  ?  "  Frank  was  more  amazed  than 
ever. 

"Because  you  gave  over  play,  though  you  had  a 


248  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

chance  to  try  again,  and  acted  as  if  you  •  Lad  got 
above  such  foolish  things.  It's  time  we  all  got  abo\e 
them.  You're  a  good-hearted  fellow,  Frank,  —  you've 
shown  that,  —  and  nobody  shall  say  I've  robbed  you." 

ifrank  took  the  money  with  a  heart  too  full  for 
thanks.  He  thought  Harris  a  fellow  of  unexampled 
generosity,  never  considering  how  much  his  own  ex- 
ample had  had  to  do  with  bringing  about  this  most 
gratif}ang  result. 

Atwater  stopped  reading,  and  looked  over  his  book 
at  Harris  with  a  smile  of  pleasure  and  approval  clear 
as  daybreak.     But  the  silent  man  did  not  speak. 

"  Well !  the  idea  of  a  battle  makes  some  folks  awful 
pious  all  at  once ! "  was  Winch's  comment. 

Nobody  heeded  him.  As  for  Frank,  with  triumph 
m  his  heart  and  money  in  his  fist,  he  ran  barefoot  to 
where  Seth  Tucket  lay  sprawled  before  the  blazing 
rails,  feeling  of  his  stockings,  to  see  if  they  were  dry 
enough  to  put  on. 

"Hello,  young  chap!  how  goes  it?"  'Stranger, 
what  dost  thou  require  ?  Rest,  and  a  guide,  and  food 
and  fire.'  Get  down  here  and  have  a  toasting.  It 
comes  cheap." 

Frank  sat  down,  and  began*  counting  the  money. 

"What's  all  that?"  demanded  Seth. 

"  All  I  owe  you,  and  a  little  to  spare ' "  cried  Frank, 
elated. 


THE    BIVOUAC.  249 

"  Sho,  ye  ddn't  say !  See  here,  Frank !  I  never 
meant  you  should  trouble  yourself  about  that.  I'm 
all  right,  money  or  no  money.  I'm  an  independent 
sort  of  nabob  —  don't  need  the  vile  stuff.  '  Kings  may 
be  great,  but  Seth  is  glorious,  o'er  all  the  ills  of  life 
victorious  ! '     So  put  it  away,  and  keep  it,  Frank." 

But  when  the  drummer  boy  told  him  how  he  had 
come  by  the  money,  and  that  it  was  his  wish  to  settle 
his  accounts  before  the  battle.  Tucket  screwed  up  his 
face  with  a  resigned  expression,  and  received  back 
the  loan. 

A  great  weight  was  now  lifted  from  Frank's  mind.* 
The  vexing  problem,  how  he  was  to  retain  the  watch 
and  yet  satisfy  Seth's  rightful  claims,  was  thus  happily 
solved.  He  could  have  danced  for  joy,  barefooted,  in 
the  grassy  sand.  And  he  yearned  more  than  ever 
now  to  see  Mr.  Sinjin,  and  make  up  with  him. 

A  few  rods  off,  in  the  rear  of  the  soldiers'  bivouacs, 
the  old  drummer  could  be  seen,  sitting  with  a  group 
of  officers  around  a  fire  of  their  own.  His  stockings 
were  hung  upon  the  end  of  a  rail,  and  he  was  busy, 
roasting  a  piece  of  pork  on  the  end  of  a  stick,  held 
out  at  arm's  length  to  the  fire.  Frank  saw  that  it  Was 
no  time  to  speak  with  him  then  •;  so  he  returned  to  his 
place,  and  sat  down  to  put  on  his  shoes  and  join  those 
who  had  not  yet  been  to  supper,  over  their  rations. 


XXV. 

ATWATER. 

As  the  evening  wore  on,  Atwater  was  obseived 
sitting  apart  fi'om  the  rest,  unusually  silent  and  grave 
even  for  him ;  gazing  at  the  fire,  with  the  book  he  had 
been  reading  closed  and  folded  thoughtfully  between 
his  hands. 

Now  Frank,  following  his  example,  had  lately 
formed  the  resolution  to  read  a  little  in  the  Testament 
every  night,  —  "if  only  for  his  mother's  sake."  But 
to-night  his  Testament  was  in  his  knapsack,  and  his 
knapsack  was  on  board  the  schooner. 

"  I'll  borrow  Atwater's,"  he  thought ;  and  with  this 
purpose  he  approached  the  tall  private. 

"Sit  down  here,  Frank,"  said 'Atwater,  with  a  seri- 
ous smile.     I'  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

It  was  so  extraordinary  for  the  phlegmatic  Abe  t(> 
express  a  wish  to  talk  with  any  body,  that  Frank 
almost  felt  awed  by  the  summons.  Something  within 
him  said  that  a  communication  of  no  tiivial  import 
was  coming.     So  he  sat  down.     And  the  tongue  of 

(250) 


ATWATEE.  251 

the  taciturn  was  that  night,  tor  once  in  his  life, 
strangely  loosened. 

"I  can't  say  it  to  the  rest,  Frank;  I  don't  know 
why.     But  I  feel  as  if  I  could  say  it  to  you." 

"  Do,"  said  Frank,  thrilling  with  sympathy  to  the 
soldier's  mysterious  emotion.     "  What  is  it,  Abe  ?  " 

For  a  minute  Atwater  sat  gazing,  gazing  —  not  at 
the  fire.  Then  he  lifted  from  the  book,  which  he  held 
80  tenderly,  his  right  hand,  and  laid  it  upon  Frank's. 
And  he  turned  to  the  boy  with  a  smile. 

"I've  liked  you  from  the  first,  Frank.  Did  you 
know  it  ?  " 

"If  you  have,  I  don't  know  why,"  said  Frank, 
deeply   touched. 

"  Nor  do  I,"  said  the  private.  "  Some  we  like,  and 
some  we  don't,  without  the  reason  for  it  appearing 
altogether  clear.  I  liked  you  even  when  you  didn't 
please  me  very  well." 

"  You   mean   when "  began   Frank,   stammer- 

ingly. 

"  Yes,  you  know  when.  It  used  to  hurt  me  to  see 
and  hear  you  —  but  that  is  past." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Frank,  from  his  heart. 

"  Yes.  And  I  like  you  better  than  ever  now.  And 
do  you  know,  Frank,  I  don't  think  I  could  say  \o  you 
what  I  am  going  to,  if  you  hadn't  been  in  trouble 
yourself,  lately  ?  That  makes  me  feel  I  can  come  near 
you." 


252  THE    DKITMMER   BOY. 

"  O  !  are  you  in  trouble,  Abe  ?  "  ^ 

"  Yes,"  —  with  another  mild,  serious  smile.  "  Not 
just  such  trouble  as  you  were  in,  though.  It  is  noth- 
ing on  my  own  account.  It  is  on  hersP  And  the 
soldier's  voice  sunk,  as  it  always  did,  when  he  alluded 
to  his  wife. 

"You  have  heard  from  her?"  asked  Frank,  with 
sympathizing  interest. 

"  Nothing  but  good  news  ;  nothing  but  good  news," 
said  Atwater,  pressing  the  pocket  where  his  letters 
were.  "  I  wish  you  could  know  that  girl's  heart.  I 
am  just  beginning  to  kmow  it.  She  has  blessed 
me !  She  is  a  simple  creature  —  not  so  smart  as 
some ;  but  she  has,  what  is  better  than  all  that,  a 
heart,   Frank!" 

Frank,  not  knowing  what  else  to  say,  answered 
earnestly,  that  he  was  sure  of  it. 

"  She  has  brought  me  to  know  this  book,"  the 
soldier  continued,  his  features  tremblingly  alive  with 
emotion.  "I  never  looked  into  it  much  before.  I 
never  thought  much  about  it  —  whether  it  was  true  or 
not.  But  whether  it  is  true  or  not,  there  is  some- 
thing in  it  that  reaches  me  here,"  —  laying  his  hand 
on  his  heart,  — "  something  that  sinks  into  me.  I 
can't   lell   how.     It   gives   me    comfort." 

Frank,  still  not  knowing  how  to  reply,  murmured 
that  he  was  glad  to  hear  it. 


ATWATER.  258 

"  Now,  this  is  what  I  have  been  wanting  to  say  to 
somebody,"  Abrara  went  on,  in  a  calm  but  suppressed 
voice.  "  I  am  going  into  battle  to-morrow.  Don't 
think  I  am  afi-aicl.  I  have  no  fear.  But  of  one  thing 
I  am  tolerably  certain.  I  shall  not  come  out  of  that 
fight  unhurt." 

The  smile  which  accompanied  these  words,  quite  as 
much  as  the  words  themselves,  alarmed  Frank. 

"Don't  say  that !  "  he  entreated.  «  You  are  a  little 
low-spirited,  Abe  ;  that's  it." 

"  O,  no  !  I  am  not  low-spirited  in  the  least.  My 
country  demands  sacrifices.  I,  for  one,  am  willing  to 
die."  This  was  said  with  singular  calmness  and 
cheerfulness.  But  the  soldier's  voice  failed  him,  as 
he   added,  "It  is   only  when  I  think  of  her  " 

Frank,  powerfully  wrought  upon,  endeavored  in 
vain  to  dissuade  his  friend  from  indulging  in  such 
sad  presentiments. 

"Well,  we  will  hope  that  they  are  false,"  said 
Atwater,  but  with  a  look  that  betrayed  how  thor- 
oughly he  was  convinced  of  their  truth.  "If  I  go 
through  safely,  then  we  can  laugh  at  them  afterwards. 
But  much  may  happen  in  these  coming^twenty-four 
hours.  Now,  I  am  sitting  here  with  you,  talking  by 
these  fires  that  light  up  the  woods  so.  To-morrow 
night,  this  which  you  call  me,"  —  the  soldier  smilingly 
designated  his  body,  —  "may  be  stretched  upon  this 


254  THE    DRUMMER   BOY 

same   earth,  and  you   may  talk  in   vain  —  it   cannot 
answer  you." 

"We  don't  know,  —  that's  true,"  Frank  agreed. 
« But   I   hope   for-  the   best." 

"  And  that  may  be  the  best  —  for  me.  God  knows. 
And  for  her,  too,  —  though  I  dread  the  stroke  for  her ! 
This  is  what  I  want  you  to  do  for  me,  Frank.  If  1 
fall,  —  if  1  fall, .  you  know,  —  you  will  write  to  her. 
Send  back  to  her  my  last  words,  with  the  book  she 
gave  me,  and  her  letters.  You  will  find  them  all  in 
this  pocket,  here.     Will  you  ?  " 

w  Frank  could  not  refrain  from  tears,  as  he  made  the 
promise. 

"  That  is  all,"  said  Atwater,  cheerfully.  "  Now,  my 
mind  is  easier.  Now,  whatever  comes,  I  am  ready. 
Stay  with  me,  if  you  like,  and  we  will  talk  of  some- 
thing else.     Or  shall  we  read  a  little  together  ?  " 

"  I'd  like  to  read  a  little,"  said  Frank. 

And  he  opened  the  book  to  these  words  :  — 

" '  Fear  not  them  which  kill  the  body,  but  are  not 
able  to  kill  the  soul.  .  .  .  Are  not  two  sparrows  sold 
for  a  farthing?  and  one  of  them  shall  not  fall  to  the 
ground  witl^nt  your  Father.  But  the  very  hairs  of 
your  head  are  all  numbered.  Fear  not,  therefore ;  yo 
are  of  more  value  thnn  many  sparrows.' " 

"  How  came  you  to  read  there  ? "  said  Atwater 
ivith  a  smile. 


ATWATER.  255 

« I  don't  know,"  said  Frank.  "  But  it  seems  meant 
^or  you  —  don't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  it  somehow  makes  me  happy.     Go  on." 

And  Frank  read,  — 

"  '  Think  not  I  am  come  to  send  peace  on  earth : 
came  not  to  send  peace,  but  a  sword.' " 

"  That  is  for  both  of  us,  for  all  of  us,  for  all  our  peo- 
ple to-day,"  said  At  water.  "  I  believe  it  is  the  strug- 
gle of  Satan  against  Christ  that  has  brought  on  this 
war.  To  attempt  to  build  up  a  nation  on  human 
slavery  —  that  is  Saltan.  And  I  believe,  ^v^cked  as  we 
are  at  the  north  too,  that  the  principle  of  freedom  we 
are  fighting  for  is  the  opposite  of  Satan.  And  who- 
ever brings  that  into  the  world,  brings  a  war  that  will 
never  cease  until  the  right  triumphs,  and  the  wrong 
ceases  forever." 

Frank  was  astonished.  He  had  never  suspected 
that  in  this  stiff,  reserved  soldier  there  dwelt  the 
spirit  which,  wlien  their  tongues  are  loosed,  makes 
men  eloquent. 

Atwater  had  roused  up,  and  spoken  with  earnest- 
ness.    But  his  glow  passed,  and  he  said  quietly, — 

«  Go  on." 

"'A  man's  foes  shall  be  they  of  his  own  house- 
hold.'" 

There  Frank  stopped  again,  this  time  of  his  own 
accord.     The  words  struck  him  with  peculiar  force. 


256  THE    DKUMMEE    BOY. 

"  That  is  true  too,"  said  Abram :  "  of  the  nation,  foi 
a  nation  is  a  household ;   and  of  many,  many  famihes." 

I^Vank  studied  the  words  a  moment,  and,  after  a 
struggle  with  his  feelings,  said  in  a  hushed  voice,  — 

"Did  you  know,  Abe,  I've  a  brother  In  the  rebel 
army  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  know.  I  have  heard  you  have  one 
somewhere  in  the  south." 

"  Yes,  you  have  heard  Jack  twit  me  about  my 
secesh  brother.  And  I  have  been  obliged  to  own  he 
was  a  —  traitor.  And  since  I  left  home  my  folks 
have  had  a  letter  fi'om  him,  in  which  he  wrote  that  he 
was  on  the  point  of  joining  the  confederate  army,  and 
that  we  would  not  probably  hear  from  him  again.  So 
I  suppose  he  is  fighting  against  us  somewhere." 

"  Not  here,  I  hope,"  said  Atwater. 

"As  well  here  as  any  where,"  said  Frank.  "I 
always  loved  my  brother.  I  love  him  still.  But,  as 
you  say,  wicked  as  we  are,  Christ  is  in  our  cause, 
and   "   Frank   read, — 

"  '  lie  that  loveth  father  or  mother  more  than  me,  is 
not  worthy  of  me  ;  and  he  that  loveth  son  or  daugh- 
ter more  than  me,  is  not  worthy  of  me.' " 

"And  I,"  said  the  boy,  lifting  up  his  face  with  a 
patriotic,  even  a  religious,  fervor  in  it,  "  I  love  my 
country,  I  love  the  cause  of  right  and  freedom,  better 
than  I  love  my  brother  !  " 


ATWATER. 


257 


«  With  that  true  of  us,  with  that  love  in  our  ht.arts," 
said  Atwater,  "  we  can  dare  to  fight,  and  whatever  the 
result,  I  believe  it  will  be  well  with  us.  See  what  the 
book  says." 

And  Frank  read  on. 

"'He  that  findeth  his  life  shall  lo^e  it;  and  he 
Ihat  loseth  his  life  for  my  sake  shall  find    it.'" 

«  That  is  enough,"  said  Atwater.  "  I  can  bind  that 
sentence  like  an  armor^  around  my  heart." 

"What  does  it  mean?" 

"It  means,,  I  think,  that  though  wickedness  tri- 
umphs, it  triumphs  to  its  own  confusion,  for  it  has 
no  immortal  life.  But  even  the  death  of  a  saint  is 
victory." 

After  that  the  soldier  seemed  inclined  to  relapse 
into  revery.  Frank  thought  he  did  not  wish  to  talk 
any  more;  so  he  gave  him  back  the  book.  Abram 
put  it  in  his  pocket,  and  took  the  boy's  hand. 

"Good  night,  Frank,"  he  smilingly  said.  "We  shall 
see  each  other  in  the  morning." 

/'  Good  night,  Abe." 

Frank   left   him.     And  Atwater,  stretching  himself 
upon  the  ground,  put  his  arm  beneath  his  head,  and 
with  the  fire-fight  on  his  placid  countenance,  dismissed 
all  worldly  care  from  his  mind,  and  slept  peacefully. 
17 


XXVI. 

OLD    SIX  JIN. 

At  the  foot  of  a  pine  -tree,  on  a  pillow  of  boughS; 
lies  the  old  drum-major.  The  blaze  of  the  bivouac  fire 
covers  him  with  its  glow  as  with  a  mantle.  But  his 
face  looks  haggard  and  care-worn,  and  his  grizzled 
mustache  has  a  cynical  curl  even  in  sleep. 

At  a  sound  he  starts,  opening  wide  those  watchful" 
gray  eyes  an  instant,  then  closing  them  quickly.  It  is  a 
footstep  approaching. 

Stealthily  it  comes,  and  passes  by  his  side.  Then 
silence  —  broken  only  by  the  crackle  and  roar  of  the 
flames.  At  length  one  eye  of  the  sleeper  opens  a  little, 
and  peeps ;  and  as  it  peeps,  it  sees,  sitting  on  the  pine 
roots,  in  the  broad  fire-light,  with  his  cap  before  his 
eyes  shading  them,  and  his  eyes  fixed  wistfully  on  him, 
Frank,  the  drummer  boy. 

The  eye  that  opened  a  little  and  peeped,  closes 
again.     The  old  fellow  begins  to  snore. 

"Poor  old  man!"  says  the  boy  to  himself;  "how 
tired  he  looks !     And  to  think  I  have  done  so  much  to 

(258) 


OLD   SINJIN.  259 

hurt  his  feelings !     I  wish  I  could  tell  him  how  sorry  I 
am ;  but  I  must  not  wake  him." 

Again  the  ambushed  eye  opens,  and  the  little  corner 
of  the  sleeper's  soul  that  happens  to  be  not  asleep, 
reconnoitres.  Frank  is  sitting  there  still,  faithfully 
watching.  A  stream  of  electric  fire  tingles  in  that 
misanthropic  breast,  at  the  sight.  But  still  the  old 
man  snores. 

"  T  may  as  well  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep  too,"  says 
Frank.  And,  very  softly,  so  as  not  to  awaken  Mr. 
Sinjin,  he  lays  himself  down  by  his  side,  puts  his  cheek 
on  the  pillow  of  boughs,  and  keeps  perfectly  still. 

The  heart  of  the  veteran  burns  within  him,  but  he 
makes  no  sign.  And  now  —  hark!.  Patter,  patter, 
patter.     It  is  beginning  to  rain. 

This,  then,  is  what  the  dark  canopy  meant,  hanging 
so  luridly  over  the  fire-lit  forest.  Patter,  patter ;  faster, 
faster ;  dripping  through  the  trees,  hissing  in  the  fire, 
capering  like  fairies  on  the  ground,  comes  the  midnight 
rain. 

Sinjin  thinks  it  about  time  to  wake.  But  Frank  is 
stirring ;  so  he  concludes  to  sleef  a  little  longer,  and 
see  what  he  will  do. 

Frank  takes  some  pine  boughs,  and  lays  them  care- 
fully over  the  old  man,  to  shelter  him  from  the  rain. 
Hotter  and  hotter  glows  the  old  heart  beneath ;  melt 
it  must  soon. 


260  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

"  There  ! "  says  Frank  in  a  whisper ;  "  don't  tell  him 
I  did  it!"  . 

He  is  going.  Old  Sinjin  can  sleep  —  or  pretend  tc 
sleep  —  no  more. 

"Hello!  Who's  there?"  —  awaking  with  amazing 
suddenness.  —  "That  you,  Frank?  What  are  you 
here  for  at  this  time  of  night?" 

"O,  I'm  a  pri^dleged  character.  They  let  me  go 
around  the  camp  about  as  I  like,  you  know." 

"How  long  has  it  been  raining?  And  how  came  all 
this  rubbish  heaped  over  me  ?  " 

The  pattering  becomes  a  rushing  in  the  tree-tops,  a 
wild  sibilation  as  of  sei-pents  in  the  fire,  and  a  steady 
rattling  and  whizzing  in  the  swamps. 

"  Well,  well !  this  won't  do,  boy !     Come  with  me ! " 

They  run  to  the  shelter  of  a  huge  leaning  trunk, 
and  crouch  beneath  it. 

"  You're  not  so  used  to  these  things  as  I  am,"  says 
the  old  man,  shielding  the  boy  with  his-  arms. 

"Let  me  bring  soixie  boughs  to  throw  over  you!'* 
cries  Frank. 

"No  —  sit  still!  You  have  heaped  boughs  enough 
on  me  for  one  night ! " 

"  Were  •  you  —  awake  ?  " 

"  One  eye  was  a  little  awake." 

"And  you  saw!" 

"  I  saw  all  you  did,  my  boy ! " 


OLD    SINJIN.  '      •    261 

Frank  knows  not  whether  to  be  happy  or  ashamed. 
Neither  speaks.  The  storm  i&  roaring  in  the  trees. 
The  water  •  drips  and  the  spray  sifts  upon  them.  At 
length  Frank  says, — 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you  I  have  the  watch  again,  and 
I  know  who  gave  it  to  me,  and  I  think  he  is  one 
of  the  best  old  men  in  the  world.  And  I  wanted  to 
say  that  I  am  very  sorry  for  every  thing  I  have  said 
and  done  that  was  wrong." 

The  bosom  of  the  lonely  old  man  heaves  as  he  an- 
swers, "  Don't,  my  boy !  don't  say  you  are  sorry  —  I 
can't  stand  that ! "     And  he  hugs  the  boy  close. 

*'  But  why  didn't  you  want  me  to  know  you  gave 
the  watch  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  such  a  foolish  old  fellow,  and  have 
forgotten  how  to  treat  a  Mend.'  For  twenty  years 
and  more  I  have  not  known  what  it  was  to  have  a 
living  soul  care  for  me." 

"O,  it  must  be  so  hard  for  you  to  be  alone  so! 
Have  you  no  sistei-s  ? " 

"  Sisters !  I  could  tell  you  of  one  so  proud,  and  rich, 
and  in  fashion,  that  her  great  house  has  no  room  in  it 
for  a  rusty  old  brother  like  me ! " 

Frank  thought  of  his  own  sisters  —  of  Hattie,  who 
was  gone,  and  of  Helen,  who,  though  she  should  wed  a 
prince,  would  never,  he  was  sure,  shut  her  doors  against 
him ;  and  he  was  filled  with  pity  for  the  poor  old  man. 


262  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  But  you  must  have  had  fi'iends?" 

"  I  had  one,  who  was  a  f;ast  friend  enough  when  he 
was  poor  and  I  had  a  little  property.  But  I  became 
responsible  for  his  debts,  which  he  left  me  to  pay; 
then  I  was  poor,  whilst  he  grew  rich  and  hated  me ! " 

«  Hated  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course !  We  may  forgive  those  who  wrong 
us,  but  not  those  we  have  wronged.  He  never  forgave 
me  for  having  been  robbed  by  him!"  And  the  old 
man's  voice  grew  hard  and  ironical  at  the  recollection. 

"  Why  didn't  you  ever  get  married  ?  "  asked  Frank. 
"You  have  one  of  the  best,  biggest  hearts  in  the 
world,  and  you  ought  to  have  loved  somebody  with 
it.     Didn't  you  ever?"  • 

The  spirit  of  the  old  man  shrank  sensitively  within 
him  for  a  moment.  Then  he  said  to  himself,  "  He  will 
know  of  it  some  day,  and  I  may  as  well  tell  him." 
For  the  heart  that  had  been  frozen  for  years  this  youth 
had  had  power  to  thaw. 

"  I  never  loved  —  any  woman  —  well  enough  to 
marry  her.  But  there  was  once  a  little  girl  that  I  had 
known  fi'om  her  cradle  —  for  I  was  many  years  older 
than  she.  I  used  to  pet  her,  and  tell  her  stories,  and 
sing  and  play  to  her,  until  I  became  more  bound  up 
in  her  than  was  very  wise  for  one  who  was  not  her 
father  or  her  brother.  Well,  she  got  to  be  of  your 
age,  and  still  ran  to  kiss  me  when  I  came,  and  never 


OLD    SI  J^  JIN.  263 

guessed  what  was  growing  up  in  my  heart  and  taking 
possession  of  me,  for  it  was  stronger  than  I,  and 
stronger  than  all  the  world.  I  saw  her  fast  becoming 
a  woman,  and  forgot  that  I  was  at  the  same  time  fast 
becoming  an  old  man.  And  one  day  I  asked  her  to 
marry  me.  I  did  not  mean  then,  but  in  a  few  years. 
But  she  did  not  stop  to  hear  my  explanations.  She 
sprang  from  me  with  a  scream.  And  that  ended  it 
She  could  never  be  to  me  again  the  innocent  pet  she 
had  been,  and  as  for  being  what  I  wished  —  I  saw  at 
once  how  absurd  the  proposal  was  I  I  saw  that  from 
that  time  she  could  regard  me  only  with  astonishment 
and  laughter.  I  was  always  extremely  sensitive,  and 
this  affair,  with  the  other  I  have  told  you  of,  proved 
too  much  for  me.  I  fled  from  society.  I  enlisted  as 
a  drummer,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  never  be  any  thing 
but  a  drummer  now.  And  this,  my  boy,  is  the  reason 
I  was  never  married." 

Drearily  sounded  the  old  man's  voice  as  he  closed. 

"It  is  all  so  sad!"  said  Frank.     "But  ought  a  man, 
to  do  so,  because  he  has  been  once  or  twice  deceived  ? 
I  have  heard  my  mother  say  that  as  we  are  to  others, 
so  they  will  be  to  us.     If  we  are  generous,  that  excites 
them  to  be  generous ;   and  love  calls  out  love." 

"Your  mother  says  that?"  rep'.ied  Mr.  Sinjin  in 
a  low  voice.  "Ah,  and  she  says  true!  If  one  is 
proud  and  reserved,  he  will  find  the  world  proud  and 


264  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

reserved :  that  I  know !  Because  two  or  three  failed 
me,  I  distrusted  every  body,  and  was  repaid  with  dis- 
trust. O  my  boy,  do  not  do  so !  Xever  let  your  soul 
be  chilled  by  any  disappointment,  if  you  would  not 
become  a  solitary  and  neglected  old  man.  Better 
trust  a  thousand  times,  and  be  deceived  as  often, 
better  love  a  thousand  times  in  vain,  than  shut  up 
your  heart  in  suspicion  and  scorn.  Your  mother  is 
right,  Frank,  —  in  that,  as  in  every  thing  else,  she  is 
perfectly  right ! " 

"  It  isn't  too  late  yet — is  it?  —  to  have  friends  such 
as  you  like.  I  am  sure  you  can  if  you  will,"  said 
Frank. 

"  You  have  almost  made  me  think  so,"  answered  the 
old  drummer.  "  You  have  brought  back  to  my  heart 
more  of  its  youth  and  fi-eshness  than  I  had  felt  for 
years.     I  want  you  to  know  that,  my  boy." 

Frank  did  not  understand  how  it  could  be,  and  the 
old  man  did  not  inform  him.  It  was  now  very  late. 
The  rain  poured  dismally.  Frank  lay  nestled  in  the 
old  man's  bosom,  like  a  child.  For  a  long  time  he 
did  not  speak.  Then  the  veteran  bent  forward  so  that 
he  could  look  in  his  face.     The  boy  was  fast  asleep. 

"  How  much  he  looks  like  his  mother  !  Her  brow, 
her  mouth !    God  bless  the  lad,  God  bless  him  ! " 

And  the  old  man  sat  and  watched  whilst  the  drum 
mer  boy  slept. 


XXVII. 

THE   SKIRMISH. 

The  night  and  the  storm  passed,  and  day  dawned 
on  Roanoke  Island. 

No  reveille  roused  up  the  soldiers.  Silently  from 
their  drenched,  cold  beds,  they  arose  and  prepared  for 
the  rough  day's  work  before  them. 

The  morning  was  chill  and  wet,  the  rain  still  drip- 
ping from  the  trees.  Far  in  the  cypress  swamps  the 
lone  birds  piped  their  matin  songs  —  the  only  sounds 
in  those  dim  solitudes,  so  soon  to  be  filled  with  the 
roar  of  battle. 

Ten  thousand  men  had  been  landed  from  the  fleet ; 
and  now  ten  thousand  hearts  were  beating  high  in 
anticipation  of  the  conflict. 

The  line  of  advance  lay  along  the  road,  which  ran  in 
a  northerly  direction  through  the  centre  of  the  island. 
Across  this  road  the  rebels  had  erected  their  most  for- 
midable battery,  with  seemingly  impenetrable  swamps 
on  either  side,  an  ample  space  cleared  for  the  play  of 
their  guns  in  front,  and  felled  trees  all  around. 


266  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

General  Foster's  brigade  took  the  advanct,  ha  zing 
with  it  a  battery  of  twelve-pounders  from  the  fleet,  to 
operate  on  the  enemy's  front.  General  Eeno  followed, 
with  orders  to  penetrate  on  the  left  the  frightful  la- 
goons and  thickets  which  protected  the  enemy's  flank. 
A  third  column,  under  General  Parke,  brought  up 
the  rear. 

General  Foster  rode  forward  with  his  stafl"  into  the 
woods,  and  made  a  reconnoissance.  The  line  of  pick- 
ets opened  to  let  the  brigade  pass  through.  Not  a 
drum  was  beat.  Slowly,  in  silence,  occasionally  halt- 
ing, regiment  succeeded  regiment,  in  perfect  order, 
with  heavy  muffled  tramp. 

Along  the  forest  road  they  passed,  the  men  laughing 
and  joking  in  high  spirils,  as  if  marching  to  a  parade. 
The  still,  beautiful  light  of  the  innocent  morning 
silvered  the  trees.  The  glistering  branches  arched 
above ;  the  glistening  stream  of  steel  flowed  beneath. 
Wreaths  of  vines,  beards  of  moss,  trailed  their  long 
fringes  and  graceful  draj^ery  from  the  boughs.  T]iO 
breeze  shook  down  large  shining  drops,  and  every  bush 
a  soldier  touched  threw  off  its  dancing  shower. 

" '  And  Ardennes  waves  above  them  her  .  greon 
leaves,  dewy  with  nature's  tear-drops,  as  they  pass,'  " 
remarked  Seth  Tucket. 

"Come,  none  o'  your  solemncholy  poetry  to-day," 
§aid  Jack  Wiuch.     ''I  never  felt  so  jolly  in  my  life. 


THE    SKIRMISH.  267 

There's  only  one  kind  of  poetry  I  want  to  bear,  and 
that's  the  pouring  of  our  volleys  into  the  rebels." 

"  The  pouring  of  their  volleys  into  us  ain't  quite  so 
desirable,  1  suppose,"  said  Harris. 

"There  wouldn't  be  much  fun  without  some  dan- 
ger," said  Jack. 

"  If  that's  fun,  I  guess  Winch  '11  have  fun  enough 
before  we're  through*  with  this  job,"  remarked  Ellis. 

"What  a  long  road  it  is!"  cried  Jack,  impatiently. 

"We'll  come  to  a  short  turn  in  it  pretty  soon,"  said 
Atwater,  significantly. 

"Well,  Abe  has  spoken!"  said  Jack.  "His  mouth 
has  been  shut  so  tight  all  along,  I  didn't  think  'twould 
open  till  the  time  comes  for  him  to  cry  quarter." 

"  Atwater  means  to  let  his  gun  sj^eak  for  him  to- 
day," said  Harris. 

"  What  do  we  go  so  slow  for  ?  Why  don't  we  hurry 
on  ? "  said  Jack.  "  I  want  to  get  at  the  rebels  some 
time  this  week.     I  don't  beheve  they " 

He  was  going  to  say  that  he  didn't  believe  they 
would  wait  to  fire  a  shot.  But  even  as  he  spoke  the 
confutation  of  his  opinion  resounded  in  the  woods. 
Crack — crack — crack — went  the  rebel  muskets;  then 
followed  a  volley  from  the  troops  in  advance. 

"  Why  didn't  you  finish  your  sentence,  Jack  ?  "  said 
Harris,  with  a  smile. 

"  They're  at  it ! "-  whispered  Jack,  in  a  changed 
voice. 


268  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  A  little  skirmishing,"  said  Atwater,  quietly. 

Crack,  crack,  again;  and  —  sing! —  came  a  bullet 
over  the  heads  of  the  men,  cutting  the  leaves  as  it 
passed. 

"  Too  high,"  laughed  Gray,  coolly. 

"Halt!"  come  the  command,  which  John  Winch, 
for  one,  obeyed  with  amazing  promptness. 

"  Hallo,  Jack  ! "  said  Ellis ;  "  who  taught  you  to  halt 
before  the  word  is  given  ?  " 

"  Are  they  going  to  keep  us  standing  here  all  day  ?  " 
said  Jack,  j^resently. 

"  He's  as  wide  awake  now  to  be  on  the  move  as  he 
was  to  stop,"  laughed  Hanis. 

« Well,"  said  Jack,  nervously,  "  who  likes  to  stand 
still  and  be  shot  at?" 

"There's  no  shooting  at  us,"  replied  Harris. 
"When  it  comes  to  that,  we'll  see  the  fun  you  talk 
about." 

Fun !  Jack's  countenance  looked  like  any  thing  but 
fun  just  then. 

He  gained  some  confidence  by  observing  the  officers 
coolly  giving  their  orders,  and  the  men  coolly  execut- 
ing them,  as  if  nothing  of  importance  had  haj^pened, 
or  was  expected  to  happen. 

Captain  Edney  deployed  his  company,  pressing  for- 
ward into  the  swamp.  Bushes  and  fallen  logs  im- 
peded  their  progress  ;   the   mud   and  water  were  in 


THE    SK  EMTSH.  269 

places  leg-deep ;  and  tlie  men  were  permitted  to  pick 
their  way  as  best  they  could.  Suddenly  out  of  a 
thicket  a  bullet  came  whizzing.  Another  and  another 
followed.  One  tore  the  bark  fi'om  a  tree  close  by 
Captain  Edney's  head. 

"  Keep  cool,  boys  ! "  he  said  ;  "  and  aim  low." 

He  then  gave  the  order,  "  Commence  firing ! "  and 
the  fi'ont  rank  men,  halting,  poured  their  volley  into 
the  thicket  —  their  first  shot  at  the  enemy.  Whilst 
they  were  reloading,  the  second  rank  advanced  and 
delivered  their  fire. 

"  Don't  waste  a  shot,  my  brave  fellows  ! "  cried  the 
captain.  "  Fire  wherever  you  see  signs  of  a  rebel.' 
Always  aim  at  something. ^^ 

This  last  order  was  a  very  useful  one ;  for  many,  in 
the  excitement  of  coming  for  the  first  time  under  fire, 
were  inclined  to  let  ofi"  their  pieces  at  random  in  the 
air ;  and  the  deliberation  required  to  take  aim,  if  only 
at  a  busli  behind  which  a  rebel  might  be  concealed, 
had  an  excellent  effect  in  quieting  the  nerves. 

Yet  some  needed  no  such  instruction.  Atwater 
wMs  observed  to  load  and  fire  with  as  steady  a  hand 
and  as  serene  a  countenance  as  if  he  had  been  practis- 
ing at  a  target.  Others  were  equally  calm  and  deter- 
mined. There  were  some,  however,  even  of  the  brave, 
who,  from  constituti-onal  excitability,  and  not  from  any 
cowardice  of  spirit,  exhibited   symptoms  of  nervous. 


270  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

ness.  Their  cheeks  paled  and  their  hands  shook. 
But,  the  momentary  tremor  past,  these  men  become 
perhaps  the  most  resohite  and  efficient  of  all. 

Such  a  one  was  Frank;  who,  though  in  the  rear 
of  the  regiment,  with  the  ambulance  corps,  felt  his 
heart  beat  so  wildly  at  the  first  whiz  of  a  bullet  over 
his  head,  that  he  was  afraid  he  was  going  to  be 
afraid. 

Was  Jack  Winch  another  of  the  sort?  It  was 
pitifal  to  see  him  attempt  to  load  his  piece.  He 
never  knew  how  it  happened,  but,  instead  of  a  car- 
tridge, he  got  hold  of  the  tompion,  —  called  by  the  boys 
the  "  tompin," —  used  to  stop  the  muzzle  of  the  gun  and 
protect  it  from  moisture,  and  was  actually  proceeding 
to  ram  it  down  the  barrel  before  he  discovered  his 
mistake ! 

•    "Take  a  cartridge.  Winch!"  said  Captain  Edney, 
who  was  coolly  noting  the  conduct  of  his  men. 

So  Jack,  throwing  away  the  stopper,  took  a  car- 
tridge. But  his  hand  shook  around  the  muzzle  of 
the  gun  so  that  it  was  some  time  before  he  could 
insert  the  charge.  He  had  already  dodged  behind  a 
tree,  the  men  being  allowed  to  shelter  themselves 
when  they  could. 

"  Dry  ground  is  scarce  as  hens'  teeth ! "  remarked 
Seth  Tucket,  droll  as  ever,  looking  for  a  good  pla,ce 
to  stand  while  he  was  loading. 


THE    SKIRMISH.  271 

« Fun,  ain't  it  ? "  said  Ned  Ellis,  who  had  sought 
cover  by  the  same  tree  with  Winch. 

He  stood  at  Jack's  left  hand,  and  a  little  behind 
him.  Jack,  too  much  agitated  to  respond  to  the 
unseasonable  jest,  threw. up  the  baiTel  of  his  piece, 
in  order  to  prime,  when  a  bnilet  came,  from  nobody- 
knew  where,  aslant,  and  put  an  end  to  jesting  for 
the  present. 

Jack  felt  a  benumbing  shock,  and  dropped  his  gun, 
the  stock  of  which  had  been  shivered  in  his  grasp. 
At  the  same  instant  Ellis  dropped  his  gun  also,  and 
threw  out  his   hands  wildly,  exclaiming, — 

«I  am  shot!" 

And  both  fell  to  the   gi'ound  together. 

"That's  what  ye  call  two  birds  with  one  stun!" 
said  Tucket,  a  flash  of  ferocity  kindling  his  face  as 
he  saw  his  comrades  fall.  "  Pay  'em  for  that,  boys ! 
Pay  'em  for  that!" 

And  hearing  the  order  to  charge  the  thicket,  he 
went  forward  with  a  yell,  taking  strides  that  -would 
l.ave  done  credit  to  a  moose  in  his  own  native  woods 
of  Maine. 

Ellis  had  by  this  time  got  upon  his  feet  again.     But  * 
Jack  lay  still,  his  neck  bathed  in  blood. 


xxvin. 

JACK  WINCH'S    CATASTROPHE. 

Seteeal  companies  were  by  this  time  engaged  driv- 
ing in  the  rebel  skirmishers,  and  three  or  four  men 
had  been  disabled. 

It  was  impracticable  to  take  the  stretchers,  or  litters 
for  the  wounded,  into  such  a  wilderness  of  bogs  and 
thickets;  and  accordingly  the  most  forward  and  coura- 
geous of  the  carriers  leaped  into  the  swamps  without 
them. 

As  soon  as  Frank  heard  that  some  of  his  company 
had  been  wounded,  all  sense  of  danger  to  himself 
was  forgotten,  and  no  remonstrance  from  his  friend 
the  drum-major  could  prevent  his  rushing  in  to  assist 
in  bringing  them  off. 

Finding  that  the  boy,  whose  welfare  was  so  precious 
to  him,  could  not  be  restrained,  Mr.  Sinjin  plunged 
in  with  him,  and  kept  at  his  side,  scrambling  through 
mud  and  brush  and  water,  and  over  logs  and  roots, 
in  the  direction  of  the  firing. 

They  had  not  gone  far  when  they  met  a  wounded 

(272) 


JACK  winch's  catastrophe.  273 

soldier  coming  out.  His  right  hand  hung  mangled 
and  ghastly  and  bleeding  at  his  side.  A  slug  from 
a  rifled  musket  had  ploughed  it  through,  nearly 
severing  the  fingers  from  the  wiist. 

"Elhs!"  cried  Frank  — "you  hurt?" 

Ned  swung  the  disabled  and  red-dripping  member 
up  to  view,  with  a  sorry  smile. 

"  Not  so  bad  as  might  be  !  "  he  said,  with  a  rather 
faint  show  of  gayety.     "  Jack  has  got  it  worse." 

"Jack  who?"  —  for  there  were  several  Jacks  in 
the  company. 

"Winch,"  said  Elhs,  whilst  the  old  drummer  was 
binding  up  his  hand  to  stop  the  blood. 

"Is he  killed?"  asked  Frank,  with  a  strange  feeling 
—  almost  of  remorse,  remembering  his  late  bitter  and 
vindictive   thoughts  towards   John. 

"I  don't  know.  We  were  both  hit  by  the  same 
ball,  I  believe.  It  must  have  passed  through  his  neck. 
It  came  fi-om  one  side,  and  we  tumbled  both  together. 
What  I  tumbled  for,  I  don't  know.  It  didn't  take 
me  long  to  pick  myself  up  again ! " 

"And  Jack?" 

"There  he  lies,  with  blood  aU  over  his  face." 

"And  nobody  caring  for  him?" 

"The  boys  have  something  else  to  think  of!"  said 
Ellis,  with  a  pallid  smiie. 

Mr.  Sinjin,  having  tied  up  the  wound,  directed  him 
18 


274  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

how  to  find  the  surgeon.     And  Ellis,  in  return,  pointed 
out  the  best  way  to  get  at  Jack. 

The  company  had  advanced,  driving  the  rebel 
skirmishers  before  tHem,  and  leaving  Winch  where  he 
had  fallen.  Frank  and  his  companion  soon  reached 
the  spot.  There  lay  the  hapless  youth  under  the  roots 
of  the  tree,  the  left  side  of  his  face  and  neck  all  cov- 
ered with  gore. 

"Jack!"  cried  Frank,  stooping  by  his  side,  and 
lifting  his  arm. 

No  answer.  The  arm  fell  heavily  again  as  he  re- 
leased it. 

"  Dead ! "  said  the  boy,  a  sudden  calmness  coming 
over  him.  "  We  may  as  well  leave  him  where  he  is, 
and  look  for  others." 

"  Not  dead  yet,"  said  the  more  experienced  Sinjin, 
feeling  Jack's  heart,  which  was  beating  still.  In  cor- 
roboration of  which  statement  Winch  uttered  some- 
thing between  a  gasp  and  a  groan,  and  rolled  up  hor- 
rible eyes. 

Frank  was  standing,  and  the  old  man  was  trying 
to  find  Winch's  wound,  in  order  to  prevent  his  bleed- 
ing to  death  while  they  were  carrying  him  out,  when 
the  report  of  a  rifle  sounded,  seemingly  quite  near, 
and  a  bullet  passed  with  a  swift  vehement  buzz  close 
by  their  ears.  At  the  instant  Frank  felt  something 
like  a  quick  tap  or  jerk  on  his  arm.     He  looked,  and 


275 

saw  that  the  strip  of  red  flannel,  which  betokened  the 
service  he  was  engaged  in,  and  which  should  have 
rendered  his  person  sacred  from  any  intentional  harm, 
had  been  shot  away.  A  hole  had  been  torn  in  his 
sleeve  also,  but  his  flesh  was  untouched. 

The  old  drummer  looked  up  quickly. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Frank,  feeling  of  his  arm  while  he  looked 
around  to  discover  where  the  shot  came  from.  "It 
must  have  been  a  spent  ball ;  for,  see !  it  fell  there  in 
the  water!"  —  pointing  at  a  pool  behind  them,  the 
surface  of  which  was  still  rippling  with  the  plunge 
of  the  shot. 

Winch  gave  another  groan. 

"  The  wound  must  be  an  internal  one,"  said  Sinjin, 
"  for  he  is  not  bleeding  much  now." 

Frank  assisted  to  lift  him,  and  together  they  bore 
him  back  towards  the  road.  It  was  a  difficult  task. 
Frank  had  neither  the  stature  nor  the  strength  of  a 
man ;  but  he  made  up  in  energy  and  good  will  what 
he  lacked  in  force.  Very  carefully,  very  tenderly, 
through  bogs  and  through  thickets,  they  carried  the 
helpless,  heavy  weight  of  the  blood-stained  volunteer 

"Frank!  is   it  you?"   murmured  Winch,  faintly. 

"  Yes,  Jack ! "  panted  the  boy,  out  of  breath  with 
exertion. 

"Am  I  killed?"  articulated  Jack. 


276  THE    DETJMMER   BOY. 

"  O,  no ! "  said  Frank.  "  You've  got  a  bullet  in  you 
somewhere;  but  I  guess  the  surgeon  will  soon  have 
it  out,  and  you'll  be  all  right  again." 

"  O  ! "  groaned  Jack. 

Just  then  there  came  another  rifle-crack,  not  quite 
so  near  as  before,  and  another  bullet  came  with  its 
angry  buzz.  It  cut  a  twig  just  over  Mr.  Sinjin's  head, 
and  grazed  a  cypress  tree  farther  on,  at  a  point  con- 
siderably lower,  and  with  a  downward  slant,  as  the 
mark  revealed. 

"  Another  spent  baU,"  said  Frank. 

But  the  old  drummer  shook  his  head.  "  Those  are 
no  spent  balls.  Some  murderous  rebel  is  aiming 
at  us." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  And  our  best  way  is  not  to  stop 
to  inquire,  but  to  get  out  of  this  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Frank  !  "  groaned  the  burden  they  were  bearing. 

"What,  Jack?" 

"  Forgive  me,  Frank !  " 

"  For  what  ?  "  said  Frank,  cheerily. 

"  For  writing  home  lies  about  you." 

"They  were  not  all  lies,  I'm  sorry  to  say.  Jack. 
But  even  if  they  were,  I  forgive  you  from  my  very 
soul." 

Jack  groaned,  and  said  no  more.  Assistants  now 
came    to    meet   them,   and   Frank,   who   was   almost 


277 

exhausted  with  the  fatigue  of  bringing  his  comrade 
so  far,  was  relieved  of  the  burden.  The  road  was 
near,   and  /  Jack   was   soon   laid   upon   a   stretcher. 

"  Frank  ! "  he  gasped,  rolling  his  eyes  again,  "  don't 
leave  me  !     For  God's  sake,  stay  by  me,  Frank  !  " 

So  Frank  kept  by  his  side,  while  the  men  bore  him 
along  the  road  to  a  tree,  where  the  surgeon  had  hung 
up  his  red  flag,  and  established  his  hospital. 

Ellis  had  just  undergone  the  amputation  of  his 
mangled  hand,  without  once  flinching  under  the  sur- 
geon's knife,  and  he  remained  on  the  spot  to  encour- 
age Winch. 

"  If  I  die,"  began  Jack,  stirring  himself  more  than 
he  had  been  observed  to  do  before.  "  Frank,  do  you 
hear  me  ?  " 

"  What  is  it.  Jack  ?  "  asked  the  sympathizing  boy. 

"  If  I  die,  don't  let  me  be  buried  on  this  miserable 
island!" 

"  But  you  are  not  going  to  die,"  said  the  surgeon, 
kmdly,  cutting  away  the  clothes  from  his  neck. 

Mr.  Singin  assisted,  while  Frank  anxiously  awaited 
the  result  of  the  examination.  The  surgeon  looked 
puzzled.  There  was  blood,  but  not  any  fresh  blood  — 
and  no  wound!  Not  so  much  as  a  scratch  of  the 
skin. 

Jack  in  the  mean  time  was  groaning  dismally. 

"  What  are  you  making  that  noise  for  ?  "  exclaimed 


278  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

the  surgeon,  sharply.  "  There  isn't  a  hurt  about 
you ! " 

"Ain't  I  shot?"  cried  Jack,  starting  up,  as  much 
astonished  as  any  body ;  for  he  had  really  believed  he 
was  a  dead  man.  "  I  was  hit,  I  know  !  and  I  swooned 
away." 

"You  swooned  from  fright,  then,"  declared  the 
indignant   surgeon.     "  Take   the   fellow   away  ! " 

Jack,  however,  gratified  as  he  was  to  learn  he  was 
not  killed,  testily  insisted  that  a  bullet  had  passed 
through  him,  adducing  the  blood  on  his  face  as  a 
proof. 

Thereupon  Ellis  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"  It  takes  Jack  to  make  capital  out  of  a  little  bor- 
rowed blood.  I  know  something  about  that.  When 
my  hand  was  ploughed  through,  I  slapped  it  against 
his  face ;  and  down  he  went,  fainting  dead  away." 
And,  notwithstanding  the  ache  of  his  wound  and  his 
weakness,  and  the  scenes  of  horror  thickening  around, 
Ned  leaned  back  against  the  tree,  and  laughed  merrily 
at  what  he  called  Jack's  "  awful  big  scare." 

Frank  felt  immensely  relieved,  at  first,  on  learning 
that  Jack  was  not  killed ;  then  immensely  amused ; 
and,  lastly,  immensely  disgusted.  He  remembered  the 
severe  struggle  it  cost  to  bring  him  out  of  the  swamp, 
the  rolled-up  eyes,  the  lugubrious  groans,  and  the 
feintly    murmured    dying    request    to    be    forgiven. 


JACK  winch's  catasteophe.  279 

And  in  the  revulsion  of  his  feelings  he  could  not  help 
saying,  "  Yes,  Jack,  I  forgive  ye !  and  if  you  die,  you 
shan't  be  buried  on  this  miserable  island." 

He  was  excited  when  he  uttered  this  taunt,  and  he 
was  sorry  for  it  afterwards.  Seeing  the  craven  slink 
away,  conscious  of  the  scorn  of  every  body,  he  felt  a 
touch  of  pity  for  him. 

"Jack,"  said  he,  with  friendly  intent,  "why  don't 
you  go  back  and  wipe  out  this  disgrace  ?     I  would." 

"  Because,"  snarled  Jack,  goaded  by  his  own  shame 
and  the  general  contempt,  "  I'm  hurt,  I  tell  ye  !  inter- 
nally^ I  s'pose,"  —  for  he  had  heard  Mr.  Sinjin  use  the 
word,  and  thought  it  a  good  one  to  suit  his  case. 
And  he  lay  down  wretchedly  by  the  roadside,  and 
counterfeited  anguish,  while  the  fresh  troops  marched 
by  to  the  battle. 

A  fiery  impulse  seized  the  drummer  boy.  He 
glanced  at  his  torn  sleeve,  from  which  the  badge 
had  been  shot  away,  and  thought  there  was  some- 
thing besides  accident  in  what  appeared  so  much  like 
an  omen.  If  it  meant  any  thing,  was  it  not  that 
his  place  was  elsewhere  than  in  the  ambulance 
corps? 

He  turned  to  Mr.  Sinjin,  and  asked  to  be  excused 
from  going  with  the  stretcher.  And  Mr.  Sinjin,  who 
prized  the  boy's  safety  too  highly  to  wish  to  see  him 
go  again  under  fire,  was  only  too  glad  to  excuse  him, 


280  THE    DEUMMEE    BOY. 

y 

never  once  suspecting  what  wild  pui*pose  was  in  hia 
heart. 

•  The  battle  was  now  fairly  begun.  The  rebel  bat- 
tery had  ojDened.  The  continual  rattle  of  musketry 
and  the  thunder  of  heavy  cannon  shook  the  island. 
The  regiments  in  line  in  front  of  the  cleared  space 
befoi'e  the  battery,  returned  the  fire  with  energy,  and 
the  marine  howitzers  also  responded.  Soon  a  shell 
from  the  enemy's  work  came  flying  through  the  woods 
with  a  hum,  which  increased  to  a  howl,  and  burst  with 
a  startling  explosion  within  a  few  rods  of  the  hospi- 
tal. Nobody  was  hurt ;  but  the  incident  had  a  very 
marked  effect  on  Jack  Winch.  He  got  better  at 
once,  and  moved  to  the  rear  with  an  alacrity  sur- 
prisingly in  contrast  with  his  recent  helplessness. 


XXIX. 

HOW   FRANK   GOT   NEWS   OF  HIS   BROTHER. 

Frank  was  already  moving  off  quite  as  rapidly,  out 
in  the  opposite  direction.  He  plunged  once  more  into 
the  swamp,  and  returned  to  the  spot  where  Jack  had 
fallen.  The  battle  was  raging  beyond  ;  the  troops  had 
passed  on;  the  ground  was  deserted.  But  there  lay 
Winch's  gun ;  with  his  cartridge-box  beside  it.  Xear 
by  was  Ellis's  piece,  abandoned  where  it  had  fallen. 
There,  too,  lay  the  red  badge  which  had  been  shot 
from  Frank's  arm.  He  picked  it  up,  thinking  his 
mother  would  like  to  have  him  preserve  it. 

Then  he  slipped  on  the  cartridge-box,  and  took  up 
Winch's  gun ;  for  this  was  the  resolution  which  in- 
spired him  —  to  assume  the  poltroon's  place  in  the 
company,  and  by  his  own  conduct  to  atone  for  the 
disgrace  he  had  brought  upon  it. 

But  the  gun-stock  was,  as  has  been  said,  shattered ; 
and  Frank  could  not  have  the  satisfaction  of  reveng- 
ing himself  and  his  comrades  for  Winch's  cowardice 

(281) 


282  THE    DRUM^IEE    BOY. 

with  Winch's  own  gun.  So  he  threw  it  down,  and 
took  up  EUis's,  which  he  found  ready"  loaded  and 
primed. 

While  he  was  examining  the  piece,  he  remembered 
the  shots  which  he  had  taken  for  spent  balls,  and 
bethought  him  to  look  around  the  woods  in  the  direc- 
tion from  which  they  had  come.  Raising  his  eyes 
above  the  undergrowth,  he  beheld  a  singular  phe- 
nomenon. 

At  first,  he  thought  it  was  a  wild  animal  —  a  coon, 
or  a  wildcat,  coming  down  a  tree.  Then  there  were 
two  wildcats,  descending  together,  or  preparing  to 
descend.  Then  the  wildcats  became  two  human  legs 
clasped  around  the  trunk,  and  two  human  arms  ap- 
peared enjoying  an  equally  close  hug  above  them. 
The  body  to  which  these  visible  members  aj^pertained 
was  itself  invisible,  being  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
trunk. 

"  That's  the  chap  that  was  shooting  at  us ! "  was 
Frank's  instantaneous  conviction. 

And  now  he  could  plainly  discern  an  object  slung 
across  the  man's  back,  as  his  movements  swung  it 
around  a  little  to  one  side.  It  was  the  sharpshooter's 
rifle. 

Frank  was  so  excited  that  he  felt  himself  trembling 
—  not  with  fear,  but  with  the  very  ardor  of  his  ambi- 
tion. 


HOW    FEAXK    GOT    2^EWS    OF    HIS    BEOTHEE.       283 

"  Since  be  has  had  two  shots  at  me,  why  shouldn't 
I  have  as  much  as  one  at  him  ? " 

To  disable  and  bring  in  the -rebel  who  had  shot  the 
badge  from  his  arm  —  what  a  triumph  ! 

But  he  was  not  in  a  good  position  for  an  effective 
shot,  even  if  he  could  have  made  up  his  mind  to  fire 
at  a  person  who,  though  without  doubt  an  enemy,  was 
not  'at  the  moment  defending  himself.  It  seemed, 
after  all,  too  dreadful  a  thing  deliberately  to  kill  a 
man. 

Frank's  excitement  did  not  embarrass  his  faculties 
in  the  least,  but  only  rendered  them  all  the  more 
keenly  alive  and  vigilant.  It  took  him  but  a  moment 
to  decide  what  to  do.  Through  the  swamp  he  ran 
with  a  lightness  and  agility  of  which  in  calmer  mo- 
ments he  would  have  been  scarcely  capable.  The  exi- 
gency of  the  occasion  inspired  him.  Such  leaps  he 
took  over  miry  places !  so  safely  and  swiftly  he  ran  the 
length  of  an  old  mossy  log !  so  nimbly  he  avoided  the 
undergrowth!  and  so  suddenly  he  arrived  at  last  at 
the  tree  the  rebel  was  descending ! 

For  he  was  a  rebel  indeed.  Frank  knew  that  by 
his  gray  uniform  and  short  jacket.  He  had  been 
perched  in  the  thick  top  of  a  tall  pine  to  pick  off 
our  men  during  the  skirmish.  It  was  he  who  had 
taken  the  bark  fi-om  the  tree  near  Captain  Edney's 
head.    It   was  he  who  had  basely  thought  to  assas- 


284  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

sinate  those  who  were  carrying  away  the  wounded. 
And  now,  the  advancing  troops  having  j  assed  him,  he 
was  taking  advantage  of  the  solitary  situation  to  slip 
down  the  trunk  and  make  his  escape  through  the 
woods. 

Unfortunately  for  him,  he  could  not  go  up  and 
down  trees  Hke  a  squirrel.  He  proceeded  hugging  his 
way  so  slowly  and  laboriously  that  Frank  reached  the 
spot  when  he  was  still  within  a  dozen  feet  of  the 
ground.  Hearing  a  noise,  and  looking  down  over  his 
arm,  and  seeing  Frank,  he  would  have  jumped  the 
remainder  of  the  distance.  But  Frank  was  prepared 
for  that. 

«  Stop,  or  I'll  fire  !  " 

Shrill  and  menacing  rang  the  boy's  determined 
tones  through  the  soul  of  the  treed  rebel.  He  saw  the 
gun  pointed  up  at  him ;  so  he  stopped. 

"  "What's  wanting  ?  "  said  he,  gruffly. 

"  I  want  you  to  throw  down  that  rifle  as  quick  as 
ever  you  can ! "  cried  Frank. 

"  What  do  you  want  of  my  rifle  ?  " 

"  I've  a  curiosity  to  see  what  sort  of  a  piece  you  use 
to  shoot  at  men  carrying  ofi"  the  wounded." 

And  the  "  grayback "  (as  the  boys  termed  the  reb- 
els) coiild  hear  the  ominous  click  of  the  gun-lock  in 
Frank's  hands. 

"Was  it  you  I  fired  at?" 


HOW    FRANK    GOT    NEWS    OF    HIS    BROTHER.       285 

«  Yes,  it  was ;  and  I'm  bound  to  put  lead  into  you 
now,  if  you  don't  do  as  I  tell  you  pretty  quick ! " 

"  I  can't  throw  my  gun  down ;  I  can't  get  it  off," 
remonstrated  the  man. 

"  You  never  will  come  down  from  that  tree  alive, 
unless  you  do ! "  said  Frank. 

"  Well,  take  the  d d  thing  then  !  "  growled  the 

man.  And  unclasping  one  arm  from  the  tree,  while 
he  held  on  with  the  other  and  his  two  legs,  he  slipped 
the  belt  over  his  head,  and  dropped  the  gun  to  the 
ground.  "  If  it  had  been  good  for  any  thing,  I  reckon 
you  wouldn't  be  here  now,  bothering  me ! "  he  added, 
significantly. 

"  No  doubt !  "  said  Frank.  "  You  are  brave  fellows, 
to  shoot  out  of  trees  at  men  carrying  off  the  wounded. 
Wait !     I'm  not  quite  ready  for  you  yet." 

And  he  stood  under  the  tree,  with  his  musket- 
pointed  upwards,  ready  cocked,  and  with  the  point 
of  the  bayonet  in  rather  ticklish  proximity  to  the 
most  exposed  and  prominent  part  of  the  rebel's 
person. 

"Ye  think  I'm  going  to  stick  here  all  day?" 
growled   the   desperate   climber.  • 

"You'll  stick  there  till  you  throw  me  down  your 
revolver,"  Frank  resolutely  informed  him. 

"  How  do  you  know  I've  got  a  revolver  ? " 

**  1  saw  your  hand  make  a  motion  at  your  pocket. 


286  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

You  thought  }  ou'd  try  ca  shot  at  me.     But  you  saw  at 
the  very  next  motion  you'd  be  a  dead  man  !  " 

"  You  mean  to  say  you'd  blow  my  brains  out  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  your  brains  are  where  my  gun  is  aimed,  as 
I  think  the  brains  of  rebels  must  be,  or  they  never 
would  have  seceded." 

Frank's  gun,  by  the  way,  was  aimed  at  the  above 
mentioned  very  exposed  and  prominent  part. 

"  Grayback  "  grinned  and  growled. 

"  Come,  my  young  joker,  I  can't  stand  this ! " 

"  You'll  have  to  stand  it  till  you  throw  down  that 
revolver ! " 

"  I'm  slipping  !  " 

"  Then  I'll  give  you  something  shai*p  to  slip  on  ! " 

The  man  felt  that  he  had  really  betrayed  himself  by 
making  the  involuntary  movement  towards  his  breast- 
pocket, which  Frank  had  been  too  shrewd  not  to 
notice.  The  cocked  gun,  and  bayonet,  and  resolute 
young  face  below,  were  inexorable.     So  he  yielded. 

"  Don't  throw  it  towards  me !  Drop  it  the  other 
side ! "  cried  the  wary  Frank. 

The  revolver  was  tossed  down.  Then  Frank 
stepped  back,  and  let  the  man  descend  from  his 
uncomfortable   position. 

"  Boy ! "  said  the  man,  as  soon  as  his  feet  were  safe 
on  the  ground,  and  he  could  turn  to  look  at  his  captor, 
"  I  reckon  you're  a  cute  'un  !     A  Yankee,  ain't  ye-?  " 


HOW   FRANK    GOT    NEWS    OF    HIS    BROTHER.      287 

"  Yes,  and  proud  to  own  it !  "  said  Frank.  "  Keep 
your  distance  !  "  —  as  the  man  made  a  move  to  come 
nearer  —  "  and  don't  you  stoop  to  touch  that  gun  ! " 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  man,  coaxingly,  "  you'd  bet- 
ter let  me  go !  I'm  out  of  ammunition,  and  can't 
hurt  anybody.     I'll  give  ye  ten  dollars  if  you  will." 

"  In  confederate  shinplasters  ?  " 

The  rebel  laughed.     "No,  in  Uncle  Sam's  gold." 

"You  don't  place  a  very  high  value  on  yourself 
said  Frank.     "You  are  too  modest." 

"  Twenty  dollars !  "  —  jingling  the  money  in  hh 
pocket.  "  Come,  I'm  a  gentleman  at  home,  and  I 
don't  want  to  go  north.     AYell,  say  thirty  dollars." 

"  If  you  hadn't  said  you  were  a  gentleman,  I  might 
trade,"  said  Frank.  "  But  a  gentleman  is  worth  more 
than  you  bid.  You  wouldn't  insult  a  negro  by  offer- 
ing that  for  him  ! " 

"  Fifty  dollars,  then  !  I  see  you  are  sharp  at  a  bar- 
gain.    And  you  shall  keep  that  revolver." 

"  I  intend  to  keep  this,  any  way,"  said  Frank,  pick- 
ing it  up.  "  And  the  gun  that  shot  at  me,  too,"  sling- 
ing it  on  his  back. 

The  rebel,  seeing  his  determination,  rose  in  his  bids 
at  once  to  a  hundred  dollars. 

"ISTot  for  a  hundred  thousand!"  said  Frank,  who 
was  now  ready  to  move  his  prisoner.  «  You  are  going 
the  way  my  bayonet  points,  and  no  other.     March  !  " 


288  THE    DRUMMEE    BOY. 

The  rebel  marched  accordingly. 

Frank  followed  at  a  distance  of  two  or  three  paces, 
prepared  at  any  moment  to  use  prompt  measures  in 
case  his  prisoner  should  attempt  to  turn  upon  him  or 
make  his  escape. 

"  How  many  of  you  fellows  are  hid  around  in  these 
trees  ?  "  said  Frank. 

"l!^ot  many  just  around  here  —  lucky  for  you!'' 
muttered  the  disconsolate  rebel. 

"  Is  that  your  favorite  way  of  fighting  ?  " 

"  People  fight  any  way  they  can  when  their  soil  is 
invaded." 

"What  are  holes  cut  in  the  pine  trees  for, — foot- 
holds for  climbing?" 

"  Holes  ?  them's  turpentine  boxes  ! "  said  the  man, 
in  some  surprise  at  Frank's  ignorance.  "Didn't  you 
ever  see  turpentine  boxes  before  ?  " 

"  Never  till  last  evening.  Is  that  the  way  you  get 
turpentine?" 

"  That's  the  way  we  get  turpentine.  The  sap  be- 
gins to  run  and  fill  the  boxes  along  in  March,  and 
w  hen  they  are  fuU  we  dip  it  out  with  ladles  made  on 
purpose,  and  put  it  into  barrels." 

■  O,  you  needn't  stop  to  explain ! "  cried  Frank. 
"Push  ahead!" 

And  the  rebel  pushed  ahead. 

It  was  a  moment  of  unspeakable  satisfaction  to  the 


HOW    FRAXK    GOT    XEWS    OF    HIS    BROTHER.       289 

drummer  boy  when  he  had  brought  his  prisoner 
through  all  the  difficulties  of  the  way  to  the  road. 
There  he  had  him  safe. 

He  was  now  in  the  midst  of  shocking  and  terrible 
scenes,  but  he  heeded  them  not  as  much  as  he  would 
have  heeded  the  ssnallest  accident  to  a  fellow-creature 
a  few  hours  before.  Already  he  seemed  familiar  with 
battles  and'  all  their  horrors.  Men  were  hm-rying  by 
wdth  medical  stores.  The  wounded  were  passing,  on 
stretchers,  or  in  the  arms  of  their  friends,  or  limping 
painfully,  ghastly,  bleeding,  but  heroic  still.  They 
smiled  as  they  showed  their  frightful  hurts.  One 
poor  fellow  had  had  his  arm  tora  off  by  a  cannon 
ball :  the  flesh  hung  in  strings.  Some  lay  by  the 
roadside,  fiint  from  the  loss  of  blood.  And  all  the 
time  the  deadly,  deafening  tumult  of  the  battle 
went    on. 

To  guard  his  prisoner  securely  was  Frank's  first 
thought.  But  greater,  more  absorbing  even  than  that, 
was  the  wild  wish  to  see  the  enemies  of  his  country 
defeated,  and  to  share  in  the  glorious  victory. 

"  Frank  Manly !  what  sort  of  a  beast  have  you  got 
there  ? "  cried  a  soldier,  returning  from  the  action 
with  a  slight  wound. 

Frank  recognized  a  member  of  another  company 
in  the  same  regiment  to  which  he  belonged. 

"  I've  got  a  sharpshootei-  that  I've  taken  prisoner." 
19 


290  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

And  he  briefly  related  his  adventure,  every  word  of 
which  the  rebel,  who  ratlier  admired  his  youthful 
captor,  voluntarily  confirmed. 

"It's  just  as  he  tells  you,"  he  said,  assuming  a 
candid,  reckless  air.  "I  am  well  enough  satisfic-.l. 
If  your  men  are  equal  to  your  boys,  I  shall  have 
plenty  of  company  before  night." 

"You  think  we  shall  have  you  all  prisoners?"  in- 
quired Frank,  eagerly. 

"This  island,"  reiDlied  the  rebel,  "is  a  perfect  trap. 
I've  known  it  from  the  beginning.  You  outnumber 
us  two  to  one,  and  if  the  fight  goes  against  us,  we've 
no  possible  chance  of  escape.  We've  five  thousand 
men  on  the  island,  and  if  we're  whipped  you'U  make 
a  pretty  respectable  bag.  But  you  never  can  conquer 
us,"  —  he  hastened  to  add,  fearing  lest  he  was  con- 
ceding too  much. 

"Can't,  eh?"  laughed  Frank.  "Where's  the  hist 
ditch?" 

"Nevermind  about  that,"  said  the  prisoner,  witl:  :i 
peculiar  grin. 

By  this  time  several  other  stragglers  had  gathered 
'  around  them,  eager  to  hear  the  story  of  the  drummer 
boy's  exploit. 

The  rebel  had  looked  curiously  at  his  youthful  cap- 
tor ever  since  he  had  heard  him  called  by  name.  At 
length  he  said  ;  — 


HOW    FRANK    GOT   NEWS    OF    HIS    BROTHER.       291 

"Have  you  got  a  brother  in  the  confederate  army?'' 
Frank  changed  color.     "Why  do  you  ask  that?" 
"  Because  we  have  a  Captain  Manly,  from  the  north 

someAvhere,  who  looks  enough  like  you*to  be  a  pretty 

near  relation." 

Frank  trembled  with  interest  as  he  inquired,  "  What 

is  his  given  name  ?  " 

"  Captain  —  Captain  George  Manly,  I'm  pretty  sure." 
"  Yes,    sir,"  —  and   sorry   tears    came    into   Frank's 

eyes  as  he  spoke,  —  "I  suppose  I  must  own  he  is  my 

brother." 

"  Well,   you've  a  smart  chance   of  meeting  him,  I 

reckon, —  i^   as  I  said,  your  men  are   equal  to  your 

boys.     For  he's  fighting  against  you  to-day,  and  he's 

one  of  the  pluckiest,  and  he  won't  run." 


XXX. 

THE  BOYS  MEET  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE. 

Feaxk  was  anxious  to  inquire  further  concerning 
his  apostate  brother;  but  at  this  moment  one  of 
Foster's  aids  came  up,  and  saw  the  prisoner. 

"Where  did  you  find  that  fellow?"  The  story  was 
quickly  told.  "  Well,"  said  the  officer,  "  you've  taken 
the  first  prisoner  to-day." 

He  then  turned  to  question  the  captive,  who  seemed 
inclined  to  talk  freely  about  the  position  and  force  of 
the  confederates. 

"  I'll  take  this  fellow  in  charge,"  he  said,  perceiving 
that  it  was  in  his  power  to  give  valuable  information. 
"  Come  too,  if  you  like." 

"I  thank  you;  I  want  to  join  my  company,"  said. 
Frank. 

"You'd  rather  do  that  than  come  and  see  the 
general  ?  " 

"  I  can  see  him  any  time  when  he  wants  me,  but  we 
don't  have  a  fight  every  day,  sir." 

"Well,  he  shall  hear  of  you.  Can  I  do  any  thing 
for  you?"  .  (292i 


THE    BOYS    MEET    AN    OLD    ACQUAINT- aNCE.         293 

"  If  you  please,  you  may  take  this  gun  that  I  have 
captured  ;  one  is  enough  for  me.'* 

The  officer  took  it,  saying,  as  he  airned  to  go, — 

"  A  spirited  boy,  and  as  modest  as  he  is  brave ! " 

In  the  mean  time  Frank's  comrades  in  the  fight 
were  cutting  their  way  through  a  thick  swam^^y  jun- 
gle in  the  direction  of  the  enemy's  left  flank. 

ReUeved  of  his  prisoner,  his  ardor  inflamed  rather 
than  quenched  by  the  evil  tidings  he  had  heard  of  his 
brother,  he  followed  in  their  track,  passing  directly 
across  the  fire  of  the  battery. 

The  hurricane  of  destruction  swept  howling  over 
him.  The  atmosphere  was  thick  with  smoke.  Grape- 
shot  whizzed  through  the  bushes.  The  scream  of 
rifled  shot  seemed  to  fill  the  very  air  with  terror  and 
shuddering.  Right  before  him  a  shell  struck  a  forest 
tree,  shivering  limbs  and  trunk  in  an  instant,  as  if  a 
bolt  from  heaven  had  fallen  upon  it.  He  felt  that  at 
any  moment  his  tender  body  too  might  be  torn  in 
pieces ;  but  he  believed  God's  arm  was  about  him,  and 
that  he  would  be  preserved.  Deep  and  solemn,  happy 
even,  was  that  conviction.  A  sense  of  the  grand 
and  terrible  filled  him;  the  whole  soul  of  the  boy 
was  roused.  He  was  not  afraid  of  any  thing.  He 
felt  ready  for  any  thing,  even  death,  in  his  country's 
service. 

The  mud  was  deep,  and  savage  the  entanglement 


294  THE    DEUSIMEE    BOY. 

of  bushes  on  evvry  side.  But  the  troops,  breaking 
through,  had  made  the  way  comparatively  easy  to 
follow,  and  Frank  soon  overtook  the  regiment. 

Great  was  Captain  Edney's  surprise  at  sight  of  him, 
with  a  gun  in  his  hand  and  with  the  glow  of  yout-^^f'j] 
heroism  in  his  face. 

"  What  are  you  here  for  ?  " 

"To  beg  permission  to  take  Winch's  place  in  the 
ranks." 

"Your  place  is  with  the  ambulance  corps." 

"I  got  excused  from  that,  sir.  I  am  not  strong 
enough  to  carry  heavy  men  through  the  swamps," 
said  Frank,  with  a  smile. 

"But  strong  enough  to  take  a  man's  place  in  the 
ranks ! "  said  Captain  Edney. 

"  I  would  like  to  have  you  try  me,  sir." 

You  may  know  that  Captain  Edney  loved  the  boy 
to  whom  he  gave  so  many  words  and  such  serious 
thought  at  a  time  of  action  and  peril.  Perhaps  he 
had  heard  of  Winch's  pusillanimity,  and  understood 
the  spirit  which  prompted  Frank  to  fill  his  j^lace. 
Certain  it  is  he  saw  in  the  lad's  eye  the  guarantee  that, 
if  permitted,  he  would  give  no  cowardly  account  of 
himself  that  day.  So,  reluctantly,  dreading  lest 
evil  might  happen  to  him,  he  granted  his  request; 
and  with  a  thrill  of  joy,  Frank  sprang  to  At  waiter's 
side. 


THE    Burs    MEET    A.N    OLD    ACQUAINTANCE.        295 

« I'm  here,  old  Abe  !  " 

"  I'm  glad  —  and  sorry  ! "  said  Abe. 

The  company  had  halted,  awaiting  tht  movement 
of  the  troops  in  front. 

"  We  are  getting  into  a  splendid  position ! "  said 
Gray,  who  had  passed  through  the  undergrowth  to 
reconnoitre.  "We're  fairly  on  their  flank,  and  not 
discovered  yet ! " 

"  How  far  did  you  go  ?  "  asked  Captain  Edney. 

"To  the  clearing,  which  is  just  there  where  the 
woods  look  lighter.  I  could  see  the  guns  of  the  bat- 
tery blazing  away,  and  rebels  in  the  woods  supporting 
it.     They're  too  busy  to  notice  us." 

"  We're  discovered,  though ! "  said  Captain  Edney 
as  a  bullet  came  chipping  its  way  among  the  twigs 
above  them. 

"  The  sharpshooters  are  after  us ! "  said  Gray,  gayly. 
"  And  now  we're  after  them ! " 

The  order  was  given  to  advance.  The  men  dashed 
forward  through  the  bushes.  They  soon  made  the 
clearing,  and  marching  along  its  edge,  opened  fire  by 
file  upon  the  battery  and  the  rebels  in  the  woods. 

"  You  do  well,  Frank ! "  said  Atwater,  seeing  his 
young  companion  coolly  loading  and  firing  at  his  side. 

"  It's  a  perfect  surprise  to  them !  they  didn't  think 
we  could  do  it ! "  cried  Gray,  elated.  "  Lively,  boys  * 
Vvely    ' 


296  .  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

The  firing,  regular  at  first,  running  along  tht  line 
from  right  to  left,  soon  became  a  continual  rattling, 
each  man  loading  at  will,  and  firing  whenever  an  ene- 
my's head  showed  itself. 

"There!  I  popped  you  over,  you  sneaking  rebel!' 
cried  Seth  Tucket,  watching  the  efiect  of  his  shot. 
"  Take  the  fellow  next  to  him  there,  Harris !  behind 
that  stump!" 

"Let  him  put  up  his  head  a  little  higher!"  said 
Harris,  taking  aim. 

He  fired.  The  rebel  dropped,  not  behind  the  stump, 
but  beside  it. 

"You've  saved  him!"  shouted  Tucket.  "That'll 
pay  for  ElUs  and  Jack  Winch !  " 

The  fire  of  the  enemy  in  the  woods  was  soon  con- 
centrated on  Captain  Edney's  company,  which  hap- 
pened to  be  most  exposed. 

"  Fire  and  load  lying ! "  rang  the  captain's  voice 
through  the  din. 

Frank  saw  those  next  him  throw  themselves  down 
behind  a  fallen  tree.  He  did  the  same.  The  trunk 
presented  an  excellent  rest  for  his  musket,  and  he 
fired  across  it.  But  when  he  came  to  load,  he  found 
difiiculty.  He  had  been  exercised  in  the  manual  of 
arms,  yet  the  operation  of  ramming  the  cartridge  while 
on  his  back  was  beyond  his  practice.  Give  him  time, 
and  he  could  do  it.  But  he  felt  tliat  time  was  pro 
clous,  and  that  every  shot  told. 


THE    BOYS    MEET    AX    OLD    ACQUAINTANCE.        297 

He  glanced  at  Atwater,  resting  on  his  left  side  aa 
he  brought  his  gun  back  after  discharging  it ;  taking 
out  his  cartridge ;  then  turning  on  his  back,  holding 
the  piece  with  both  hands  and  placing  the  butt  be- 
tween his  feet ;  and  in  that  position,  with  the  barrel 
over  his  breast,  charging  cartridge,  drawing  rammer, 
and  so  forth. 

All  which  the  tall  soldier  performed  scientifically 
and  quickly.  Yet  Frank  saw  that  it  took  even  him 
much  longer  to  load  lying  than  standing.  What,  then, 
could  he  hope  to  do? 

What  he  did  was  this.  He  deliberately  got  upon 
his  feet,  and  with  the  balls  singing  around  him,  pro- 
ceeded unconcernedly  with  his  loading. 

"  Down  ! "  called  Atwater  to  him ;  "  down  !  You're 
making  a  target  of  yourself!" 

Frank  resolutely  went  on   with  his  loading. 

"  Down,  there  !  down,  Frank  !  "  shouted  Captain 
Edney. 

Frank  shouted  back,  — 

"  I  can't  load  unless  I  stand  up,  sir ! " 

"N"ever  mind  that!  Down.! "  repeated  his  captain, 
peremptorily. 

"  I've  got  my  cartridge  down,  any  way,*^  said  Frank 
triumphantly,  dropping  again  behind  the  log. 

"  Why  don't  you  obey  orders  ?  "  cried  Gray. 

*'  The  orders  were  to  load  and  fire,  and  I  was  bound 


298  THE    DKUMMEK    BOY. 

to  obey  them  before  any  others ! "  said  Frank,  pre^ai- 
ing  to  prime. 

Just  then  Atwater,  who  was  again  on  his  back,  sud- 
denly dropped  his  piece,  which  fell  across  his  left  arm, 
and  brought  his  right  hand  to  his  breast.  The  move- 
ment was  so  abrupt  and  unusual  it  attracted  Frank's 
attention. 

"Are  you  hit,  Abe ? " 

And  in  an  instant  he  saw  the  answer  to  his  hurried 
question  in  a  gush  of  blood  which  crimsoned  the  poor, 
brave  fellow's  breast. 

"  It  has  come ! "  said  Atwater. 

"  How  could  it  —  and  you  lying  down  so ! "  ejacu- 
lated Frank. 

"I  don't  know  —  never  mind  me!"  replied  Abe, 
faintly. 

Then  Frank  remembered  the  mysterious  shots  aimed 
at  him  and  Sinjin  in  the  woods,  and  the  subsequent 
solution  of  the  mystery.  He  looked  up  —  all  around 
—  overhead. 

"What's  the  trouble.  Manly?"  screamed  Tucket. 
"What  do  ye  see?" 

"  There  !  "  Frank  shouted,  pointing  upwards  ; 
"  there !  the  man  that  killed  Atwater !  " 

And  in  the  branches  of  a  tree,  which  stood  but  a 
few  paces  in  front  of  them,  he  showed,  half  hidden  by 
the  thick  masses  the  figure  of  a  rebel. 


THB   BOYS    MEET    AN    OLD    ACQUAIXTAN  3E.        299 

The  sharpshooter  was  loading  his  piece.  Frank  saw 
the  movement,  and  would  have  hastened  to  avenge 
the  death  of  his  friend  before  the  assassin  could  fire 
again.  But  he  was  out  of  caps,  and  must  borrow. 
Tucket's  gun  was  ready. 

" ' Die  thou  shalt,  gray-headed  ruffian !'" 

Seth  shouted  the  words  up  at  the  man  in  the  tree, 
and  lying  on  his  back,  brought  the  butt  of  his  gun  to 
his  shoulder,  aimed  heavenward,  and  fired. 

Scarce  had  flame  shot  from  the  muzzle,  when  down 
came  the  rebel's  gun  tumbling  to  the  ground  ;  pursued 
out  of  the  tree  by  something  that  resembled  a  huge 
bird,  with  spread  wings,  swooping  down  terribly,  and 
striking  the  ground  with  a  jar  heard  even  amid  the 
thunder  of  battle. 

It  was  the  rebel  himself. 

"'Rattling,  crashing,  thrashing,  thunder  down!'" 
screamed  Seth  Tucket,  his  ruling  passion,  poetry 
strong  even  in  battle. 

The  man,  pitching  forwards  in  his  fearful  somerset, 
had  fallen  within  a  few  feet  of  Frank.  The  boy,  re- 
covering from  his  astonishment  at  the  awful  sight,  felt 
a  strange  -curiosity  to  see  if  he  was  dead. 

He  looked  over  the  log.  There  lay  the  wretch,  a 
hideous  heap,  the  face  of  him  upturned  and  recogniz- 
able. 

Where  had  Frank  seen  that  grim,  countenance,  that 


300  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

short,  stiff,   iron-gray  hair?     Somewhere,  surely.     He 
looked  again,  trying  to  fix  his  memory. 

"  I  swan  to  man,  ef  it  ain't  old  Buckley ! " 
Seth  was  right.     It  was  the  Maryland  secessionist 
whose  turkeys  the  boys  had  stolen,  and  who,  in  conse- 
quence, had  made  haste  to  avenge  his  wrongs  by  join- 
ing the  confederate  army. 

A  strange,  sickening  sensation  came  over  Frank  at 
the  discovery.  Thus  the  evil  he  had  done  followed 
him.  But  for  that  wild  freak  of  plundering  the  poor 
man's  poultry-yard,  he  might  be  plodding  now  on  his 
Maryland  farm,  and  Atwater  would  not  be  lying  there 
so  white  and  still  with  a  bullet  in  his  breast. 


XXXI. 

"VICTORY   OR  DEATH." 

Where  all  this  time  was  the  old  drum-major  ?  He 
too  had  disappeared  from  the  ambulance  corps,  to 
assume,  like  Frank,  a  position  of  still  more  arduous 
service  and  greater  danger. 

Shortly  after  Frank  left  him,  word  came  that  the 
battery  of  boat-howitzers,  which,  from  a-  curve  in  the 
road  that  commanded  the  rebel  works,  had  been  doing 
splendid  execution,  was  suffering  terribly,  and  getting 
short  of  hands.  It  must  soon  withdraw  unless  reen- 
forced.  But  who  would  volunteer  to  help  work  the 
guns  ? 

The  old  man  had  been  familiar  with  artillery  prac- 
tice. At  the  thought  of  the  service  and  the  peril  his 
spirit  grew  proud  within  him.  But  his  heart  yearned 
for  Frank. 

"  Where  is  Manly  ?  "  he  inquired  of  Ellis. 

"  I  believe  he  has  gone  into  the  fight  with  our  com- 
pany, "  said  the  wounded  volunteer. 

The  truth  flashed  upon  the  veteran.     Yes,  the  boy 

:301) 


302  THE   DEUMMEE    BOY. 

he  loved  had  gone  before  him  into  danger.  'He  no 
longer  hesitated,  or  lost  any  time  in  getting  leave  to 
report  himself  to  the  commander  of  the  battery. 

"  What  can  you  do  ?  "  was  the  hurried  question  put 
to  him,  as  he  stood  in  the  thick  powder-smoke,  calmly 
asking  for  work. 

Just  then,  a  gunner  was  taken  off  his  feet  by  a  can- 
non-ball. 

"I  can  take  this  fellow's  place,  sir,"  said  the  old 
man,  grimly. 

"  Take  it !  "  replied  the  officer. 

The  wounded  sailor  was  borne  away,  and  the  old 
drummer,  springing  to  the  howitzer,  assisted  in  work- 
ing it  until,  its  ammunition  exhausted,  the  battery  was 
ordered  to  withdraw. 

During  the  severest  part  of  the  action  Mr.  Smjin 
had  observed  a  person  in  citizen's  dress,  with  his 
coat  off,  briskly  handling  the  cannon-balls.  Their 
work   done,   he   turned   to   speak   with   him. 

"  You  are  a  friend  of  my  young  drummer  boy,  I 
believe,"  said  the  old  man. 

"Yes,  and  a  friend  of  all  his  friends!"  cordially 
answered  the  white-sleeved  civilian. 

"You  can  preach  well,  and  fight  well,"  said  the 
veteran,  bis  eyes  gleaming  with  stern  pride. 

"  I  prefer  to  preach,  but  I  believe  in  fighting  too, 
when  duty  points  that  way,"  said  Mr.  Egglestone,  — 


VICTORY    OR   DEATH.  303 

for  it  was  he,  flushed  and  begrimed  with  his  toil  at 
the  deadly  guns. 

Even  as  they  were  speaking,  a  cannon-baU  passed 
between  them.  Mr.  Egglestone  was  thrown  back  by 
the  shock  of  the  wind  it  carried,  but  recovered  in- 
stantly to  find  himself  unhurt.  But  where  was  the 
old  drummer  ?  He  was  not  there.  And  it  was  some 
seconds  before  the  bewildered  clergyman  perceived 
him,  several  paces  distant,  lying  on  his  face  by  the 
road. 

The  howitzers  silenced,  it  was  determined  to  storm 
the  enemy's  works. 

Frank  afterwards  had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  it  was  in  part  the  information  gained  from  the 
prisoner  he  had  taken  that  decided  the  commanding 
general  to  order  a  charge. 

Frank  was  with  his  company,  where  we  left  him, 
when  suddenly  yells  rent  the  air;  and,  looking,  he 
saw  the  Zouaves  of  Parke's  brigade  dashing  down 
the  causeway  in  front  of  the  rebel  redoubt. 
.  They  were  met  by  a  murderous  fire.  They  returned 
it  as  they  charged.  As  their  comrades  fell,  they  passed 
over  them  unheedingly,  and  still  kept  on  —  a  sublime 
sight  to  look  upon,  in  tlieir  wild  Arab  costumes,  shout- 
ing, «  Zou  !  zou ! "  bounding  like  tigers,  clearing  ob- 
structions, and  sweeping  straight  to  the  breastwork 
with  their  deadly  bayonets. 


304  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

"What  Is  it?"  asked  Atwater,  faintly. 

"  Victory  !  "  ans%vered  Frank ;  for  the  firing  ceased 
—  the  enemy  were  flying. 

"  That's  enough  !  '*  And  the  still  pallid  face  of  tiie 
soldier  smiled. 

Victory !  l^one  but  those  who  have  fought  a  stern 
foe  to  the  bloody  close,  and  seen  his  ranks  break  and 
fly,  and  the  charging  columns  pursue,  ranks  of  bris- 
thng  steel  rushing  in  through  clouds  of  battle  smoke, 
know  what  pride  and  exultation  are  in  that  word. 

Victory!  Reno's  column,  that  had  outflanked  the 
rebels  on  the  west  side,  fighting  valiantly,  charged 
simultaneously  with  the  Zouaves.  The  whole  line 
followed  the  example,  and  went  in  with  colors  flying, 
and  shouts  of  joy  filling  the  welkin  which  had  been 
shaken  so  lately  with  the  jar  of  battle.  Over  fallen 
trees,  over  pits  and  ditches,  through  brush,  and  bog, 
and  water,  the  conquering  hosts  poured  in ;  Frank's 
regiment  with  the  rest,  and  himself  among  the  fore- 
most  that  planted  their  standard  on  the  breastwork. 

There  were  the  abandoned  cannon,  still  warm  and 
smoking.  There  lay  a  deserted  flag,  bearing  the  Latin* 
inscription  "  Aut  vincere  aut  mori^''  —  Victory  or 
death,  —  flung   down   in   the   precipitate  .  flight. 

"They  couldn't  conquer,  and  they  didn't  want  to 
die;  so  they  split  the  diflerence,  and  run,"  observed 
Seth  Tuck-et. 

There  too  lay  the  dead  and  dying,  whom  the  boast- 


VICTORY    OR    DEATH.  305 

ful  enemy  had  forsaken  where  they  fell.  One  ol  these 
who  had  not  run  was  an  officer  —  handsome  and 
young.  He  was  not  yet  dead.  A  strange  light  was 
"  in  his  eyes  as  he  looked  on  the  forms  of  the  foemen 
thronging  around  him,  saw  the  faces  of  the  victors, 
and  heard  the  cheenug.  Success  and  glory  were  fof 
them  —  for  him   defeat  and  death. 

"Lift  me  up,"  he  said,  "and  let  me  look  at  you 
once." 

They  raised  him  to  a  sitting  posture,  supported 
partly  by  a  gun-carriage,  and  partly  by  the  arms  of 
his  conquerors.  And  they  pressed  around  him,  their 
voices  hushed,  their  triumphant  brows  saddened  with 
respect  for  the  djdng. 

"Though  we  have  been  fighting  each  other,"  he 
said,  solemnly,  "we  are  still  brothers.  God  forgive 
me  if  I  have  done  wrong !     I  too  am  a  northern  man, 

_  I  too " 

As  he  spoke,  a  figure  in  the  uniform  of  his  foes 
sprang  through  the  crowd  to  his  feet. 
"  O,  my  brother  !  O,  my  brother  George  !  " 
It  w.is  Frank  Manly,  who  knelt,  and  with  -jassion- 
ale'  grief  clasped  the  hand  that  had  clasped  his  in 
fondness  and  merry  sport  so  often  in  the  happy  days 
of  his  childhood,  when  neither  ever  dreamed  of  their 
unnatural  separation  and  this  still  more  unnatural 
meeting. 

20 


306  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  Frank  !  my  little  brother  !  so  grown  !  is  it  you  ?  " 
said  the  wounded  captive,  with  dreamy  surjjrise. 

"  O  George  !  how  could  you  ? "  Frank  began,  with 
anguish  in  his  voice. .  But  he  checked  himself;  he 
would  not  re^Droach  his  dying  brother. 

"  My  wife,  you  know  !  "  was  all  the  unhappy  young 
man  could  murmur.  He  looked  at  Frank  with  a  faint 
and  ever  fainter  smile  of  love,  till  his  eyes  grew  dim. 
"  I  am  going,  Frank.     It  is  all  wrong  —  I  know  now 

—  but  it  is  too  late.     Tell  mother* " 

His  words  became  inaudible,  and  he  sank,  swooning, 
in  Captain  Edney's  arms. 

"  What,  George  ?  what  shall  I  tell  mother  ? " 
pleaded   Frank,   in    an    agony. 

"  And  father  too,"  said  the  d}dng  lips,  in  a  moment 

of   reviving    recollection.      "  And    my    sisters " 

But   the   message   was  never   uttered. 

"  George !  O,  George !  I  am  here !  Don't  you 
see  me?" 

The  dim  eyes  opened  ;  but  they  saw  not. 
• "  Carry  me  up  stairs  !     Let  me  die  in  the  old  room 

—  our  room,  Frank." 

It  was  evident  his  mind  was  wandering ;  he  fancied 
himself  once  more  at  home,  and  wished  to  be  laid  in 
the  little  chamber  where  he  used  to  sleep  with  Frank, 
as  Frank  had  slept  with  Willie  in  later  days. 

"  Kiss  me,  mother !  "     The  ashen  face  smiled  :  then 


VICTORY    OR   DEATH.  307 

the  light  faded  from  it ;  and  the  lips,  grown  cold  and 

numb,   murmured   softly,  "It   is   growing  dark  

Good  night ! " 

And  he  slept  —  the  sleep  of  eternity. 

When  Frank  rose  up  from  the  corpse  he  had  mas- 
tered himself  Then  Captain  Edney  saw,  what  none 
had  noticed  before,  that  blood  was  streaming  down  his 
arm  —  the  same  arm  that  had  been  grazed  before ;  this 
time  it  had  been  shot  through. 

"  You  are  wounded  !  " 

"  Yes  —  but  not  much.  I  must  go  —  let  me  go  and 
take  care  of  Atwater !  " 

"But  you  need  taking  care  of  yourself!"  —  for  he 
was  deadly  pale. 

«  No,  sir  —  I  —  Abe,  there " 

Even  as  the  boy  Was  speaking  he  grew  dizzy,  and 
fell  fainting  in  his  captain's  arms. 


XXXII. 

AFTER  THE   BATTLE. 

It  is  over.  The  battle  is  ended,  the  victory  won. 
The  sun  goes  down  upon  conquerors  and  conquered, 
upon  the  living  and  the  dead.  And  the  evening 
comes,  melancholy.  The  winds  sigh  in  the  pine-toj^s, 
the  sullen  waves  dash  upon  the  shore,  the  gloom  of 
the  cypresses  lies  dismal  and  dark  on  Roanoke  Island. 

Buildings  suitable  for  the  purpose,  taken  from  the 
enemy,  have  been  converted  into  hospitals,  and  the 
wounded  are  brought  in. 

There  is  Frank  with  his  bandaged  arm,  and  Ellis 
with  his  stump  of  a  hand  bound  up,  and  others  worse 
off  than  they.  There  is  the  surgeon  of  their  regi- 
ment, active,  skilful,  kind.  There,  too,  is  Mr.  Eggle- 
Btone,  the  minister,  proving  his  claim  to  that  high  title, 
ministering  in  the  truest  sense  to  all  who  need  him, 
holding  to  fevered  lips  the  cup  of  medicine  or  sooth- 
ing drink,  and  holding  to  fevered  souls  the  still  more 
precious  drink. 

There  is   Corporal  Gray,  assisting   to  arrange   the 

(308) 


AFTER    THE    BATTLE:.  309 

nospital,  antl  cheering  his  comrades  with  an  account 
of  the  victory. 

"  The  rebels  ran  like  herds  of  deer  after  we  got  the 
battery.  We  tracked  'em  by  the  traps  they  threw 
away.  Guns,  knapsacks,  coats,  —  they  flung  off  every 
thing,  and  skedaddled  for  dear  life !  We  met  an  old 
negro  woman,  who  told  us  where  their  camp  was ;  but 
some  of  'em  had  taken  another  direction,  by  a  road 
that  goes  to  the  east  side  of  the  island.  Our  boys 
followed,  and  found  'em  embarking  in  boats.  We 
fired  on  'em,  and  brought  back  two  of  their  boats. 
In  one  we  got  Jennings  Wise,  of  the  Wise  Legion, 
that  we  had  the  bloody  fight  with  flanking  the  bat- 
tery.    He  was  wounded  and  dying. 

"But  our  greatest  haul  was  the  camp  the  old 
negress  pointed  out.  The  rebels  rallied,  and  as  we 
moved  up,  fired  upon  us,  doing  no  damage.  We  re- 
turned the  compliment,  and  dropped  eight  men. 
Then  more  running,  of  the  same  chivalrous  sort,  our 
boys  after  them;  when  out  comes  a  flag  of  truce 
from  the  camp. 

"'What  terms  will  be  granted  us?'  says  the  rebel 
officer. 

"'No  terms,  but  unconditional  surrender,'  says  Gen- 
eral Foster. 

"  '  How  long  a  time  will  be  granted  us  to  consider  ? ' 

" '  Just  time  enough  for  you  to  go  to  your  camp  to 
convey  the  terms  and  return.' 


SIO  .  THE    DRUMMER    KOY. 

"  Off  went  the  rebel.  We  waited  fifteen  minutes^ 
Then  we  pushed  on  again.  That  movement  quick- 
ened their  deliberations ;  and  out  came  Colonel  Shaw, 
the  commander,  and  says  to  General  Foster, — 

"  '  I  give  up  my  sword,  and  surrender  five  thousand 
men ! '  For  he  didn't  know  some  two  thousand  of  his 
force  had  escaped.  What  we  have  got  is  about  three 
thousand  prisoners,  and  all  their  forts  and  quarters, 
which  we  call  a  pretty  good  bag." 

The  boys  forgot  their  wounds,  they  forgot  their 
dead  and  dying  comrades,  listening  to  this  recital. 
But  short-lived  was  the  enthusiasm  of  one,  at  least. 
Scarce  was  Gray  gone,  when  Frank  saw  four  men 
enter  with  a  stretcher,  bringing  upon  it  a  grizzled, 
pallid  old  man. 

"  O,  Mr.  Sinjin !  O,  my  dear,  dear  fiiend !  You 
too!" 

"  Is  it  my  boy  ? "  said  the  veteran,  with  a  wan 
smile.     "  Yes,  I  too  !     They  have  done  for  me,  I  fear." 

"  But  nobody  told  me.     How  —  where "     The 

boy's  grief  choked  his  voice. 

"An  impertinent  cannon-ball  interrupted  my  con- 
versation with  Mr.  Egglestone,"  said  the  old  man, 
stifling  his  agony  as  the  men  removed  him  to  a  cot. 
*'  And  took  a  —  "  he  groaned  in  spite  of  himself —  "  a 
greedy  mouthftil  out  of  my  side  —  that's  all." 

Frank  knew  n)t  what  to  say  or  what  to  do,  he  was 
so  overcome 


AFTER    THE    BATTLE.  311 

"  There,  my  boy,"  said  the  old  man,  to  comfort  him, 
"  no  tears  for  me !  It  is  enough  to  see  you  again. 
They  told  me  you  were  hmt  — "  looking  at  the  lad's 
disabled  arm.  "  I  am  glad  it  is  no  worse."  And  the 
wan  veteran  smiled  content. 

Frank,  with  his  one  hand,  smoothed  the  pillow 
under  the  old  gray  head,  struggling  hard  to  keep 
back  his  sobs  as  he  did  so. 

"Who  is  my  neighbor  there?"  Mr.  Sinjin  cheer- 
fully asked. 

"  Atwater,"  Frank  managed  to  articulate. 

"  Is  it  ?     I  am  sorry !     A  bad  wound  ?  " 

*'The  bullet  went  through  a  Bible  he  carried, 
then  into  his  breast,  beyond  the  reach  of  surgery,  I 
am  afraid,"  Mr.  Egglestone  answered  for  Frank, 
"He  lies  in  a  stupor,  just  alive." 

"Poor  fellow!"  said  Mr.  Sinjin,  feehngly.  "If 
Death  must  have  one  of  us,  let  him  for  once  be  con- 
siderate, and  take  me.  Atwater  is  young,  just  mar- 
ried,—  he  needs  to  live;  but  I  —  I  am  not  of  much 
account  to  any  body,  and  can  just  as  well  be  spared 
as  not." 

"  O,  no,  O,  no ! "  sobbed  Frank ;  "  I  can't  spare  you  ! 
I  can't  let  you  die ! " 

"  My  boy,"  said  the  old  man,  deeply  affected,  "  I 
would  like  to  tarry  a  little  longer  in  the  world,  if  only 
for  your  sake.     You  have  done  so  much  for  me  —  so 


312  THE    DRUMMER    HOY. 

much  more  than  you  can  ever  know !  Y^ou  have 
brought  back  to  my  old  heart  more  of  its  youth  and 
freshness  than  it  had  felt  for  years.  I  thank  God  for 
it.     I  thank  you,  my  dear  boy." 

With  these  words  still  ringing  in  his  ear,  Frank 
was  taken  away  by  the  thoughtful  Mr.  Egglestone, 
and  compelled  to  lie  down. 

"Tou  must  not  agitate  the  old  man,  and  you  need 
repose  yourself,  Frank.  I  fear  the  effects  of  all  this 
excitement,  together  with  that  wound,  on  your  slender 
constitution." 

"  O,  my  wound  is  nothmg ! "  Frank  declared.  "  See 
that  he  and  Atwater  have  every  thmg  done  for  them 
—  won't  you,  Mr.  Egglestone  ?  " 

The  minister  promised,  and  Frank  endeavored  to 
settle  his  mind  to  rest. 

But  he  could  not  sleep.  Every  five  minutes  he 
started  up  to  inquire  after  his  friends.  Hour  after 
hour  passed,  and  he  still  remained  wakeful  as  a  spirit 
doomed  never  to  sleep  again.  His  wounded  arm 
pained  him;  and  he  had  so  many  things  to  think 
of,  —his  suffering  comrades,  old  Buckley  shot  out  of 
the  tree,  his  rebel  brother,  his  folks  at  home,  and  all 
the  whirling  incidents  and  horrors  of  that  dread" day. 

So  he  thought,  and  thought;  and  prayed  silently 
for  the  old  drummer  groaning  on  his  bed  of  pain ; 
and  pleaded  for  Atwater  lying  there,  still,  with  the 


iFTER    THE    BATTLE.  313 

death-shadow  he  had  foreseen  darkening  the  portal 
of  his  body.  And  Frank  longed  for  his  mother, 
as  he  grew  weary  and  weak,  until  at  last  sleep 
came  in  mercy,  and  dropped  her  soft,  vapory  veil 
over  his   soul. 

The  thrilling  news  of  the  victory  came  north  by  tel- 
egraph. Then  followed  letters  from  correspondents, 
giving  details  of  the  battle,  when,  one  morning,  Helen 
Manly  ran  home  in  a  glow  of  excitement,  bringing  a 
damp  and  crumpled  newspaper. 

"  News  fi'om  Frank  !  "  she"  cried,  out  of  breath. 

In  a  moment  the  little  family  was  gathered  about 
her,  the  parents  eager  and  pale. 

« Is  he  living  ?     Tell  me  that !  "  said  Mrs.  Manly. 

"Yes,  but  he  has  been  wounded,  and  is  in  the 
hospital." 

"  Wounded ! "  broke  forth  Mr.  Manly  in  consterna- 
tion ;  but  his  wife  kept  her  soul  in  silence,  waiting 
with  compressed  white  lips  to  learn  more. 

"  In  the  arm  —  not  badly.  There  is  a  whole  half 
column  about  him  here.  For  he  has  made  himself 
famoas — Frank!  our  dear,  dear  Frank!"  And  the 
quick  tears  flooding  the  girl's  eyes  fell  upon  the 
paper. 

Mrs.  Manly  snatched  the  sheet  and  read,  how  her 
Doy    had    distinguished    himself;    how   he    had   cap- 


814  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

tured  a  rebel,  and  fought  gallantly  in  the  ranka, 
and  received  a  wound  without  mindiug  it;  and  how 
all  who  had  witnessed  his  conduct,  both  officers  and 
men,  were  praising  him ;  it  was  all  there  —  in  the 
newspaper. 

"  What  adds  to  the  romance  of  this  boy's  story," 
said  the  writer  in  conclusion,  "  is  a  circumstance  which 
occurred  at  the  capture  of  the  breastwork.  Among 
the  dead  and  wounded  left  behind  when  the  enemy 
took  to  flight,  was  a  rebel  captain,  of  northern  j^arent- 
age,  who  came  south  a  few  years  ago,  married  a 
southern  belle,  became  a  slaveholder,  joined  the  slave- 
holders' rebellion  in  consequence,  and  lost  his  life  in 
defence  of  Roanoke  Island.  He  lived  long  enough 
to  recognize  in  the  drummer  boy  his  ow7i  younger 
brother,  and   died   in   his   arms." 

Great  was  the  agitation  into  which  the  family  was 
thrown  by  this  intelligence. 

"  O  that  I  had  the  wings  of  a  dove ! "  said  Mrs. 
Manly.     "  For  I  must  go,  I  must  go  to  my  child  !  " 

Pride  and  joy  in  his  youthful  heroism,  pain  and 
grief  for  the  other's  tragic  end,  all  was  absorbed  in  the 
dreadful  uncertainty  which  hung  about  the  welfare  of 
the  favorite  son  ;  and  she  knew  that  not  all  the  atten- 
tions and  praises  of  men  could  make  up  to  him,  there 
on  his  sick  bed,  for  the  absence  of  his  mother. 

The  family  waited,  however,  —  in  what  anguish  of 


AFTER    THE    BATTLE.  315 

suspense  need  not  be  told,  —  until  the  next  mail 
brought  them  letters  from  Mr.  Egglestone  and  Captain 
Edney.  By  these,  their  worst  fears  were  confinned. 
Exposure,  fatigue,  excitement,  the  wound  he  had 
received,  had  done  their  work  with  Frank.  He  was 
dangerously  ill  with  a  fever. 

"  O,  dear !  "  groaned  Mr.  Manly,  "  this  wicked,  this 
wicked  rebellion  !  George  is  killed,  and  now  Frank  ! 
What  can  we  do?  what  can  we  do,  mother?"  he 
asked,  helplessly. 

While  he  was  groaning,  his  wife  rose  up  with  that 
energy  which  so  often  atoned  for  the  lack  of  it  in 
him. 

"  I  am  going  to  Roanoke  Island !  I  am  going  to 
my  child  in  the  hospital!" 

That  very  day  she  set  out.  Alone  she  went,  but 
she  was  not  long  without  a  companion.  On  the  boat 
to  Fortress  Monroe  she  saw  a  solitary  and  disconsolate 
young  woman,  whose  face  she  was  confident  of  having 
seen  somewhere  before.  She  accosted  her,  found  her 
going  the  same  journey  with  herself,  and  on  a  similar 
errand,  and  learned  her  history. 

*  "  My  husband,  that  I  was  mamed  to  at  the  cars  just 
as  his  regiment  was  leaving  Boston,  has  been  shot  at 
Roanoke  Island,  anc  whether  he  is  alive  or  dead  I  do 
not  know  ! " 


316  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  Tour  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Manly,  — "  my  son 
knows   him   well.     They   were   close   friends ! " 

And  from  that  moment  the  mother  of  Frank  and 
the  wife  of  Atwater  were  close  friends  also,  support- 
ing and.  consoling  each  other  on  the  journey. 


xxxin. 

A  FRIEND   IN   NEED. 

At  Roanoke  Island,  a  certain  tall,  lank,  athletic  pri- 
vate had  been  detailed  for  fatigue  duty  at  the  landing, 
when  the  steamer  from  the  inlet  arrived.    . 

Being  at  leisure,  he  was  watching  with  an  expres- 
sion of  drollery  and  mquisitiveness  for  somebody  to 
tell  him  the  news,  when  he  saw  two  bewildered,  anx- 
ious women  come  ashore,  and  look  about  them,  as  if 
waiting  for  assistance. 

Prompted  by  his  naturally  accommodating  dispo- 
sition, and  no  less  by  honest  curiosity,  the  soldier 
stepped  up  to  them. 

"Ye  don't  seem  over'n  above  familiar  in  these 
parts,  ladies,"  he  said,   with  his  politest  grin. 

"  We  are  looking  for  an  officer  who  promised  to  aid 
us  in  finding  our  friends  in  the  hospital  —  or  at  least 
in  getting  news  from  them,"  said  the  elder  of  the 
two,  —  a  fine-looking,  though  distressed  and  care-worn 
woman  of  forty. 

"  Sho !  wal  I  s'pose  he's  got  other  things  to  look 

(317) 


318  THE    DRUMMER   BOY. 

after,  like  as  not ! "  And  the  soldier,  in  his  sympathy, 
cast  his  eyes  around  in  search  of  the  officer.  "  Got 
friends  in  the  hospital,  hev  ye  ?  "  Then  peering  curi- 
ously under  the  bonnet  of  the  young  female,  "  Am't 
you  the  gal  that  merried  Atwater  ?  " 

"  O  !  do  you  know  him  ?  Is  he  —  is  he  alive  ?  " 
By  which  eager  interrogatives  he  perceived  that  she 
was  "the  gal." 

The  droll  countenance  grew  solemn.  "I  ain't  ed- 
zac'ly  prepared  to  answer  that  last  question,  Miss  — 
Miss  Atwater ! "  he  said,  with  some  embarrassment. 
"  But  the  fust  I  can  respond  to  with  right  good  will. 
Did  I  know  him  !  "  —  Tears  came  into  his  eyes  as  he 
added,  "  Abe  Atwater,  ma'am,  was  my  friend ;  and  a 
braver  soldier  or  a  better  man  don't  at  this  moment 
exist ! " 

"  Then  you  must  know  my  boy,  too ! "  cried  the 
elder  female,  —  "Frank  Manly,  drummer." 

The  soldier  brightened  at  once. 

"  Frank  Manly  !  '  Whom  not  to  know  argues  one's 
self  unknown.'  Your  most  obedient,  ma'am,"  —  bow- 
ing and  scraping.  "  Tour  son  has  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  officers,  and  made  himself  pop'lar  with 
every   body.     Mabby   ye   haven't   heerd " 

"I've  heard,"  interrupted  the  anxious  mother.  "But 
how  is  he?     Tell  me  that!" 

"  Wal,  he  was  a  little  grain  more  chirk  last  night. 


A   FEIEND    IN    NEED.  319 

I  was  told.  He  has  had  a  fever,  and  been  delirious, 
and  all  that  —  perty  nigh  losing  his  chance  o'  bein' 
promoted,  he  T^as,  one  spell!  But  now  I  guess  his 
life's  about  as  sure's  his  commission,  which  Cap'n  Ed- 
ney  says  there  ain't  no  doubt  about." 

"So  young ! "  said  Mrs.  Manly,  trembling  with  in- 
terest. 

"  He's  young,  but  he's  got  what  we  want  in  officers 
— that  is,  sperit ;  he's  chock  full  of  that.  I  take  some 
little  pride  in  him  myself,"  added  the  private.  "  We 
was  almost  like  brothers,  me  and  Frank  was !  *  In  the 
desert,  in  the  battle,  in  the  ocean-tempest's  wi'ath, 
we  stood  together,  side  by  side ;  one  hope  was  ours, 
one  path  ! ' " 

"  This,  then,  is  Seth  Tucket ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Man- 
ly, who  knew  him  by  his  poetry. 

"  That's  my  name,  ma'am,  at  your  service ! "  And 
Seth  made  another  tremendous  bow.  "  But  I  see,"  he 
said,  "  you're  anxious ;  ye  want  to  git  to  the  hospital. 
I  tell  ye,  Frank  '11  be  glad  to  see  ye ;  he  used  to  rave 
about  you  in  his  delirium;  he  would  call  ^mother! 
mother!"*  sometimes  half  the  night." 

"  Poor  child !  poor,  dear  child ! "  said  Mrs.  Manly. 
« I  can't  wait !  help  me,  sir,  —  show  me  the  way  to 
him,  if  nothing  more ! " 

"  Hello  !  "  shouted  Seth.  "  Whose  cart  is  this  ? 
Where's  the  drive     of  this  cart?     It's  been  standin' 


320  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

here  this  hour,  and  uobocly  owns  it."  He  jumiDed  into 
it.  "  Who  claims  this  vehicle  ?  '  Who  so  base  as 
would  aot  help  a  woman  ?  If  any,  speak !  for  him  have 
I  offended ! '  Xobody  ?  Then  I  take  the  responsibility 
—  and  the  cart  too  !  Hop  in,  ladies  Here's  a  board 
for  you  to  set  on.  I'll  drive  ye  to  the  hospital,  and 
bring  back  the  kerridge  before  Uncle  Sara  misses  it." 

The  women  were  only  too  glad  to  accept  the  invita- 
tion, and  they  were  soon  seated  on  the  board.  Seth 
adjusted  his  anatomy  to  the  edge  of  the  cart-box,  and 
drove  off  But  he  soon  stood  up,  declaring  that  a 
hungry  feUow  like  him  couldn't  stand  that  board,  —  he 
was  too  sharp  set. 

Mrs.  Manly  did  not  venture  to  ask  again  about  At- 
water,  —  what  he  had  already  said  of  him  having  gone 
so  heavily  to  the  poor  wife's  heart.  But  she  could 
inquire  about  the  old  drum-major,  who,  she  had  heard, 
was  wounded. 

"Old  Sinjin?  Wal!  Fm  in  jest  the  same  dilemmy. 
consaraing  him  as  Atwater.  They've  both  been  sick 
and  at  the  pint  of  death  ever  sence  the  fight.  Now 
one  of 'em's  dead,  and  t'other's  alive.  A  chap  that  was 
at  the  hospital  told  me  this  morning,  '  One  of  them 
sickest  fellers  in  your  regiment  died  last  night,'  says 
he ;  'I  don't  know  which  of  'em,'  says  he.  And  I 
haven't  had  a  chance  yet  to  find  out." 

"  O,  haste  then  ! "  cried  tlie  young  wife.  "  May  be 
my  husband  is  li-vij  g  still!" 


A    FRIEND    IN    NEED.  ^     321 

« Shouldn't  wonder  the  least  might  if  he  is "  said 
Seth,  willing  to  encourage  her.  "For  he  has  hung  on 
to  life  wonderfully ;  he  said  he  believed  you  was  com- 
ing, and  he  couldn't  bear  the  idee  of  dying  before  he 
could  see  you  once  more.  Old  Buckley's  bullet  has 
been  found,  you'll  be  pleased  to  know." 

«  Old  Buckley  ?     Who  is  old  Buckley  ?  " 

"  The  Maryland  secessionist  that  shot  your  husband, 
and  that  I  brought  down  from  the  tree  to  pay  for  it. 
He  never  '11  git  into  another  tree,  without  his  soul  goes 
into  a  gobble-turkey,  as  I  should  think  it  might,  and 
flies  up  in  one  to  roost ! " 

"And  the  bullet! " 

"As  I  was  going  to  tell  ye,  it's  been  found.  It 
went  through  the  Bible  that  you  gave  him  (and  that 
Frank's  preserving  for  you  now,  I  believe),  and  lodged 
in  his  body,  the  doctor  couldn't  tell  where.  But  one 
night  Mr.  Egglestone,  —  the  fighting  minister,  you 
know,  that  merried  you,  —  he  was  bathing  Abe's  back, 
and  what  did  he  find  but  a  bunch,  that  Abe  said  was 
sore.  *  Doctor!'  says  he,  'I've  found  the  bullet!' 
And,  sure  enough !  the  doctor  come  and  cut  out  the 
lead.  It  had  gone  clean  through  the  poor  feller, — 
into  his  breast,  and  out  under  his  side!  —  Hello!" 
said  Seth,  "T  shall  hev  to  turn  out  and  wait  for  that 
company  to  march  by.  I  swan  to  man  ef  'taiii't  my 
company, — or  a  part  on't,  at  least!  They're  drum 
21 


C"-::  THE    DKTJMMEE   BOY. 

ming  out  a  coward,  to  the  tune  of  the  Roguis 
March!'' 

The  women  were  all  im23atience  to  get  on ;  and  Mrs. 
Manly  felt  but  the  faintest  gleam  of  interest  in  the 
procession,  until,  as  it  drew  near,  in  a  wretched  figure, 
wearing,  in  place  of  the  regimental  uniform,  a  suit  of 
rags  that  might  have  been  taken  from  some  contra- 
band, with  drummers  before  and  fixed  bayonets  be- 
hind, she  recognized  —  Jack  Winch ! 

"Wal!"  said  Seth,  "I'd  ruther  go  into  a  fight  and 
be  shot  dead  than  go  out  of  camp  in  that  style !  See 
that  label,  '  Coward,'  on  his  back  ?  But  he  deserves 
it,  ef  ever  a  chap  did  ! " 

And  Seth,  as  he  drove  on,  related  the  story  of 
Jack's  miserable  boasting  and  poltroonery.  ]\^ch  as 
she  pitied  the  wretch,  Mrs.  Manly  could  not  help  re- 
membering his  treachery  towards  her  s(?n,  and  feeling 
that  Frank  wasiiow  amply  avenged. 


XXXIV. 

THE   HOSPITAL. 

Let  as  pass  on  before,  and  take  a  peep  into  the  hos- 
pital. There  we  find  Ned  Ellis,  playing  dominoes 
with  one  hand,  and  joking  to  keep  np  the  spirits  of 
his  companions.  There  lies  Frank  on  his  cot,  with 
blanched  countenance,  eyes  closed,  and  pale  lips  smil- 
ing, as  if  in  dreams.  Of  his  two  friends,  Atwater  and 
the  old  drummer,  only  one,  as  Seth  Tucket  said,  remains. 
One  was  carried  out  last  night  —  in  a  coffin  his  cold 
form  is  laid  —  life's  fitful  fever  is  over  \vit4i  him. 

And  the  other?  Very  still,  very  pale,  stretched  on 
his  narrow  bed,  no  motion  of  breathing  perceptible, 
behold  him. !  What  is  it  we  see  in  that  sculj^tured, 
placid  fiice  ?  Is  it  life,  or  is  it  deafh  ?  It's  aeither  hfe 
nor  death,  but  sleep,  that  dim  gulf  between. 

Mr.  Egglestone,  who  has  been  much  about  the  hos- 
pital from  the  first,  enters  with  a  radiant  look,  and 
steps  lightly  to  Frank's  side. 

The  drummer  boy's  eyes  unclose,  and  smile  their 
welcome. 

(323) 


324  THE  drumm:er  boy. 

"Better,  still  better,  I  am  glad  to  see!"  says  the 
minister,  cheerily. 

"Almost  well,"  answered  Frank,  although  so  weak 
that  he  can  hardly  speak.  "  I  shall  be  out  again  in  a 
day  or  two.  The  fever  has  quite  left  me ;  and  I  was 
having  such  a  beautiful  dream.  I  thought  I  was  a 
water-lily,  floating  on  a  lake  ;  and  the  lake,  they  told 
me,  was  sleep ;  and  I  felt  all  whiteness  and  peace! 
Wasn't  it  pretty?" 

"  Pretty,  and  true  too ! "  said  the  minister,  with  a 
suffusmg  tear,  as  he  looked  at  the  pale,  gentle  boy, 
and  thought  how  much  like  a  white  fi-agrant  lily  he 
was.  "  I  have  news  for  you,  Frank.  The  steamer  has 
aiTived." 

"0!  and  letters?" 

"  Probably,  though  I  have  none  yet.  But  something 
besides  letters!" — Mr.  Egglestone  whispered  confi- 
dentially, "  Atwater's  wife  is  here  ! " 

"  Is  she  ?  Brave  girl !  —  0,  dear ! "  said  Frank,  his 
features  changing  suddenly,  "  why  didn't  my  mother 
come  too!  She  might,  I  think!  It  seems  as  if  I 
couldn't  wait,  as  if  I  couldn't  live,  till  I  see  her ! " 

"  Well,  Frank,"  then  said  the  minister,  having  thus 
prepared  him,  "  your  mother  did  think  —  your  mother 
is  here ! " 

At  the  moment,  Mrs.  Manly,  who  could  be  no  longei 
restrained,  flew  to  the  bedside  of  her  son.     He  started 


THE     HOSPITAL.  325 

up  with  ti  wild  cry ;  she  caught  him  in  her  arms  ;  they 
clung  and  pissed  and  cried  together. 

«  Mother !  mother !  "  «  My  child !  my  darling  child ! " 
were  the  only  words  that  could  be  heard  in  that  smoth- 
ering embrace. 

Mr.  Egglestone  turned,  and  took  the  hand  of  her 
companion,  who  had  entered  with  her,  and  led  her  to 
the  cot  where  lay  the  still  figure  and  placid,  sculptured 
face.  O  woman,  be  strong !  O  wife,  be  calm !  keep 
back  the  tears,  stifle  the  anguish,  of  that  heaving 
breast. 

She  is  strong,  she  is  calm,  tears  and  anguish  are  re- 
pressed. She  bends  over  the  scarcely  breathing  form, 
gazes  into  the  utterly  pallid  face,  and  with  clasped 
hands  in  silence  blesses  him,  prays  for  him  —  her  hus- 
band. 

For  this  is  he  —  Abe  At  water,  the  shadow  of  death 
he  foresaw  still  darkening  the  portal  of  his  body,  as  il 
hesitating  to  enter,  nor  yet  willing  to  pass  by.  And 
the  face  in  the  cofiin  outside  there  is  the  face  of  the 
old  drummer,  whose  soul,  let  us  hope,  is  at  peace.  One 
was  taken  —  will  the  other  be  left  ?  ^ 

The  eyes  of  Abe  opened ;  they  beheld  the  vision  of 
his  wife,  and  gladness,  like  a  river  of  soft  waters,  glides 
into  his  soul.  O,  may  it  be  a  river  of  life  to  him  !  As 
love  has  held  his  spirit  back  from  death,  so  may  its 
pfwer  restore  him;   for  such  things  have  beenj   and 


826  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

there  is  nft  medicine  for  the  sick  body  or  sinking  soul 
like  the  breath  and  magnetic  touch  of  love. 

Frank  meanwhile  was  lying  on  his  bed,  holding 
his  mother's  hands,  and  drinking  in  the  joy  of  her 
presence.  And  she  was  feeding  his  rapture  with  the 
tenderest  motherly  words  and  looks,  and  telling  him 

of  home. 

"But  how  selfish  1  am!"  said  Frank.  "How  little 
you  could  afford  to  leave,  and  come  here !  I  thought 
I  was  going  to  be  a  help  to  you,  and,  the  best  I  can  do, 
I  am  only  a  trouble  and  a  hinderance  ! " 

"  I  could  not  stop  an  instant  to  think  of  trouble  or 
expense  when  my  darling  was  in  danger ! "  exclaimed 
the  grateful  mother.  "I  feel  that  God  wall  take  care 
of  us ;  if  we  are  his  children,  he  will  provide  for  all 
our  wants.     Will  he  not,  Mr.  Egglestone  ?  " 

"  When  I  have  read  to  you  this  paper,"  rej^lied  the 
minister,  "then  you  can  be  the  judge.  I  was  re- 
quested to  read  it  to  Frank  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to 
hear  it  —  after  his  fiiend's  death." 

"  Is  it  something  for  me  ?  Poor  old  Mr.  Sinjin  ! " 
exclaimed  Frank.  "  He  died  last  night,  mother.  But 
he  was  so  happy,  and  so  wilhng  to  go,  I  can't  mourn 
for  him.     What  is  the  paper  ?  " 

"A  few  nights  ago  he  requested  me  to  come  to  bis 
side  and  write  as  he  should  dictate."  And  the  clergy 
man,  fi*)ating  him'^elf,  read  :  — 


THE    HOSPITAL.  327 

«'The  Last  Will  and  Testament  of  Servetus  St.  John, 
commonly  called  Old  Sinjin. 

"*I,  Servetus  St.  John,  Drummer,  being  of  sound 
mind,  but  of  body  fast  failing  unto  death,  having  re- 
ceived its  mortal  hurt  in  battle  for  my  country,  do 
give  and  bequeath  of  my  possessions  as  follows:  — 

"  *  Item.  My  Soul  I  return  to  the  Maker  who  gave 
it,  and  my  Flesh  to  the  dust  whence  it  came. 

" '  Item.  To  my  Country  and  the  Cause  of  Free- 
dom, as  I  have  given  my  last  poor  services,  so  I  like- 
wise give  cheerfully  my  Life. 

"'J^em.  To  Mehitabel  Craig,  my  only  surviving 
sister  after  the  flesh,  I  give  what  alone  she  can  claim 
of  me,  and  what,  as  a  dying  sinner,  I  have  no  right  to 
withhold,  my  full  pardon  for  all  offences. 

'•'''•  Item..  To  my  present  friend  and  comforter,  Mr. 
Egglestone,  as  a  memento  of  my  deep  obligations  to 
him,  I  give  my  watch. 

'-'-'' Item.  To  my  fellow-sufferer,  Abram  Atwater,  or 
to  his  widow,  in  case  of  his  decease,"!  bequeath  the 
sum  of  one  hundred  dollars. 

"*-Z^em.  To  my  fellow-sufferer  and  dearly  beloved 
pupil,  Frank  Manly,  I  give,  in  token  of  affection,  a 
miniature  which  will  be  found  after  my  death. 

"  ^Item.  To  the  same  Frank  Manly  I  also  give  and 
bequeath  the  residue   of  all   my  worldly  possessions, 


328  THE    DEUMMEK    BOY. 

Then  followed  an  enumeration  of  certain  stocks 
and  deposits,  amounting  to  the  sum  of  three  thou- 
sand dollars. 

The  will  was  duly  witnessed,  and  Mr.  Egglestone 
was  4he  appointed  executor. 

Frank  was  silent;  he  was  crying,  with  his  hands 
over  his  face. 

"So  you  see,  my  young  fi-iend,"  said  Mr.  Eggle- 
stone, "you  have,  for  your  own  comfort,  and  for  the 
benefit  of  your  good  parents,  a  snug  little  fortune, 
which  you  will  come  into  possession  of  in  due  time. 
As  for  the  miniature,  I  may  as  well  hand  it  to  you 
now.  I  found  it  after  the  old  man's  death.  He 
always  wore  it  on  his  heart." 

He  took  it  fi*om  its  little  soiled  buckskin  sheath, 
and  gave  it  to  Mrs.  Manly.  She  turned  pale  as  she 
looked  at  it.  Frank  was  eager  to  see  it,  and,  almost 
reluctantly,  she  placed  it  in  his  hands.  It  might 
almost  have  passed  for  a  portrait  of  himself,  only  it 
was  that  of  a  girl ;  and  he  knew  at  once  that  it  was 
his  mother,  as  she  had  looked  at  his  age. 

While  he  was  gazing  at  the  singular  memento  of 
the  old  man's  romantic  and  undying  attachment,  Mrs. 
Manly  looked  away,  with  the  air  of  one  resolutely 
turning  her  mind  from  one  painful  subject  to  an- 
other. 

"I  wish  to  ask  you,  Mr.  Egglestone,  what  dispo- 


THE    HOSPITAL.  329 

sition   has  been   made  of I  bad   auotbei    sou, 

you  know." 

He  understood  her. 

"I  trust,"  said  be,." that  what  Captain  Edney  and 
myself  thought  proper  to  do  will  meet  your  approval. 
After  the  battle,  the  wife  of  Captain  Manly  sent  a 
request  to  have  his  body  forwarded  to  her  by  a  flag 
of  truce.  We  consulted  Frank,  who  told  us  to  do  as 
we  pleased  about  it.  Accordingly,  we  obtained  per- 
mission to  grant  her  request,  and  the  body  of  her 
husband  was  sent  to  her." 

There  was  for  a  moment  a  look,  as  of  one  who  felt 
bitter  wrong,  on  Mrs.  Manly's  face  ;   but  it  passed. 

"You  did  well,  Mr.  Egglestone.  To  her  who  had 
got  the  soul  belonged  the  body  also.  May  peace  go 
with  it  to  her  desolated  home  ! " 

"  Mother ! "  whispered  Frank,  gazing  still  at  the 
miniature,  "tell  me!  am  I  right?  do  I  know  now 
why  it  was  the  dear  old  man  thought  so  much,  of 
me  ?  " 

"  If  you  have  not  guessed,  my  child,  I  will  tell  you. 
Years  ago,  when  I  was  the  little  girl  you  see  there, 
he  was  good  enough  to  think  Z  was  good  enough  to 
marry  him.     That  is  all." 

Frank  said  no  more,  but  laid  the  picture  on  his 
heart,  —  for  it  was  his,  and  the  dearest  part  of  the 
dea'  old  man'^  legacy.    - 


XXXV. 

CONCLUSION. 

After  a  ong  delay  Captain  Edney  came;  apolo- 
gizing for  Jiot  appearing  to  welcome  his  drummer 
boy's  mother  and  his  old  schoolmistress  before.  His 
excuse  was  valid :  one  of  his  men,  S.  Tucket  by  name, 
had  got  into  a  scrape  by  running  off  with  one  of 
Uncle  Sam's  carts,  and  he  had  been  to  help  him 
out  of  it. 

He  found  a  new  light  shining  in  the  hospital  —  the 
light  of  woman's  influence ;  the  light  of  life  to  Frank 
and  his  friend  Atwater,  nor  to  them  only,  but  to  all 
upon  whom  it  shone. 

Mrs.  Manly  remained  in  the  hospital  until  her  son 
was  able  to  travel,  when  leave  of  absence  was  granted 
him,  and  all  his  friends  crowded  to  bid  him  farewell, 
as  he  departed  in  the  boat  with  his  mother  for  the 
north  —  for  home  ! 

Of  his  journey,  of  his  happy  arrival,  the  greetings 
from  father,  sister,  Uttle  brother,  friends  —  of  all  this 
f  would  gladly  write  a  chapter  or  two ;  but  he  is  no 

(330) 


CONCLUSION.  331 

longer  the  Dnimmer  Boy  now,  and  so  our  business 
with  him  is  over.  And  so  he  left  the  service  ? 
Not  he. 

"  I'm  to  be  a  Soldier  Boy  now ! "  he  declared  to  all 
those  who  came  to  shake  him  by  the  hand  and  hear 
his  story  from  his  own  lips. 

His  wound  was  soon  healed,  and  he  hastened  to 
return  to  his  regiment ;  for  he  was  eager  to  be  learning 
every  thing  belonging  to  the  profession  of  a  soldier. 
It  was  not  long,  however,  before  he  came  north  again 
—  tliis  time  on  surprising  business.  Captain  Edney, 
who  had  won  the  rank  of  Colonel  at  the  battle  of 
Newbern,  had  been  sent  home  to  raise  a  regiment; 
and  he  had  been  permitted  to  choose  from  his  own 
company  such  persons  as  he  thought  best  fitted  to 
assist  him,  and  hold  commissions  under  him. 

He  chose  Gray,  Seth  Tucket,  and  Frank.  Another 
of  our  friends  afterwards  joined  the  regiment,  with 
the  rank  of  First  Lieutenant;  having  quite  recovered 
from  his  wound,  under  the  tender  nursing  of  his 
wife. 

With  his  friends  Edney,  Gray,  Tucket,  and  At- 
water,  Frank  was  as  happy  as  ever  a  young  oiRcer  in 
a  new  service  could  be.  He  began  as  second  lieu- 
tenant ;  but 

But  here  our  story  must  end ;  for  to  relate  how 
he  has  fought  his  way  up,  step  by  step,  to  a  rank  which 


332  THE    DEUMMEK   BOY. 

"Was  never  more  fairly  earned,  would  require  a  sepa 
rate  volume,  —  materials  for  which  we  may  possibly 
find  some  day  in  his  own  letters  to  his  mother,  and 
in  those  of  Colonel  Edney  to  his  sister  Helen. 


Some  extracts  fi-om  a  letter  just  received  from  the 
hero  of  these  pages  may  perhaps  interest  the  reiader. 

"  I  cannot  teU  you,  sir,  how  much  astonished  I  was  on 
opening  the  package  you  sent  me.  I  don't  think  the  mysteri- 
ous bundle  that  contained  the  watch  dear  old  *  Mr.  St.  John ' 
gave  me  surprised  me  half  as  much.  I  had  never  seen  any 
proof-sheets  before,  and  hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  them 
at  first.  Then  you  should  have  heard  me  scream  at  Gray  and 
Atwater.  '  Boys,'  says  I,  '  here's  a  story  founded  on  our 
adventures ! '  I  sat  up  all  that  night  reading  it,  and  I  must 
confess  I  had  to  blush  a  good  many  times  before  I  got 
through.  I  see  you  have  not  called  any  of  us  by  our  real 
names  ;  but  I  soon  found  out  who  *  Abe,'  and  '  Seth,'  and 
*  Jack  Winch,'  and  all  the  other  characters  are  meant  for.  T 
have  read  ever  so  many  pages  to  *  Seth '  himself,  and  he  has 
laughed  as  heartily  as  any  of  us  over  his  own  oddities.  "We 
all  wonder  how  you  could  have  written  the  story,  giving  all 
the  circumstances,  and  even  the  conversations  that  took  place, 
BO  correctly  >     ut  I  remember,  when  I  was  at  your  house,  you 


CONCLTJSIOX.  333 

kept  me  talking,  and  wrote  down  nearly  every  thing  I  said  ; 
hesides  which,  I  find  there  was  a  good  deal  more  in  my  jour- 
nal and  letters  than  I  supposed,  when  I  consented  to  let  you 
have  them  and  make  what  use  of  them  you  pleased.  Little 
did  I  think  then,  that  ever  such  a  book  as  the  '  Drummer 
l^oy '  could  be  made  out  of  them. 

"  You  ask  me  to  point  out  any  important  errors  I  may 
notice,  in  order  that  you  may  correct  them  before  the  book  is 
published.  Well,  the  night  the  row  was  in  camp,  when  the 
'  Blues  '  cut  down  the  captain's  tent,  the  company  was  ordered 
out,  and  the  roll  called,  and  three  other  fellows  put  under 
guard,  before  Abe  and  I  were  let  ofi".  I  might  mention  two  or 
three  similar  mistakes,  but  I  consider  them  too  trifling  to  speak 
of.  There  are,  besides,  two  or  three  omissions,  which  struck 
me  in  reading  the  wind-up  of  the  story.  *  Jack  Winch  '  went 
home,  and  died  of  a  fever  within  a  month.  If  it  isn't  too  late, 
I  wish  you  would  put  that  in  ;  for  I  think  it  shows  that  those 
who  think  most  of  saving  their  lives  are  sometimes  the  first  to 
lose  them. 

"  You  might  add,  too,  that  '  Mr.  Egglestone '  is  now  the 
chaplain  of  our  regiment.  We  all  love  him,  and  he  is  doing  a 
great  deal  of  good  here.  I  have  put  the  *  Drummer  Boy '  into 
his  hands,  and  I  just  saw  him  laughing  over  it.  If  every  body 
reads  it  with  the  interest  we  do  here  in  camp,  it  will  be  a  great 
success.  ... 

"  There  is  another  thing  —  but  this  you  need  not  put  into 
the  book.  With  the  money  my  dear  old  friend  and  master 
left  me,  I  have  bought  the  house  our  folks  live  in,  so  that, 
whatever  happens  tc  me,  they  will  never  be  without  a 
home.  .  . 


334  THE    DRUMMER    BOY. 

"  In  conclusion,  let  me  say  that,  while  you  have  tc  Id  some 
things  of  me  I  would  rather  every  body  should  forget,  you 
have,  on  the  whole,  given  me  a  much  better  character  than  I 
deserve. 

"  We  are  ah'eady  beginning  to  call  each  other  by  the  names 
you  have  given  us,  and  I  take  great  pleasure  in  subscribing 
myself, 

"  Yours,  truly, 

"Frank  Manlt." 


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